The Outdoor Girls in the Saddle; Or, The Girl Miner of Gold Run

by Laura Lee Hope

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE PLAN

  Certainly the girls had never expected such startling developments fromMollie's simple little ruse to find out who the mysterious Hermit ofGold Run was. In the beginning it had been something of a lark, and theynever dreamed that their interest and curiosity would uncover such atragedy.

  However, they were not at all in sympathy with Betty's conviction thatPaul Loup had not really killed his brother.

  "I don't see how you get that way, Betty," Grace argued hotly. "We allfeel as sorry for the hermit as you do, but we have his own word for itthat he really killed his brother."

  "He did seem to be pretty sure of it," said Amy, with a quaver in hervoice. "When the wind rose last night and wailed around the house, I gotall creepy thinking of him alone up in that dreary little shack, livingthat whole horrible thing over again."

  It was the next day, and the girls were in the saddle, as usual. Theyhad visited the new gold diggings and found everybody excited andoptimistic, though no gold had been uncovered as yet. And now they weretrotting slowly along the open road, their thoughts busy with thestartling happenings of the day before.

  "It's a wonder he doesn't go crazy," shuddered Mollie, taking up thethread where Amy had dropped it. "I know I would. What was it he saidabout being 'ghost-ridden?'"

  "I don't believe he is ghost-ridden at all, except by his imagination,"said Betty positively. "I think if he had taken the trouble to look atthe newspapers before he decided that he was a hunted man he might havesaved himself a lot of trouble and unhappiness."

  "Goodness, how do you get that way, Betty?" Grace said irritably. "Theman ought to be the best judge of whether he killed anybody or not."

  "Well," said the Little Captain stubbornly, "it seems to me it wouldhave had to be a pretty heavy bottle with a pretty strong arm behind itto kill a man with one blow. And a scalp wound bleeds horribly, youknow."

  The girls looked a little thoughtful, and for the first time since Bettyhad advanced her theory they began to think that there might possiblybe something in it after all.

  "That's right," said Amy, and then went on to relate an experience shehad had when skylarking with Sarah Stonington.

  "She had hold of that heavy rocking chair we have in the library," Amysaid. "She was trying to pull it away from me, and I was hanging on toit for dear life.

  "Then suddenly I let go, and Aunt Sarah--she's pretty heavy, youknow--lost her balance as the chair swung forward, and fell overbackward, striking her head on the sharp edge of the piano."

  "Goodness, you must have been scared," commented Mollie.

  "'Scared!'" echoed Amy. "Why, I was struck dumb with terror. I thought Ihad killed her. She lay there all white and funny, and her head wasbleeding dreadfully----"

  "There's your scalp wound for you," Betty pointed out. "Just a littlescratch will make the whole place look like a shambles."

  "But what happened to your aunt Sarah, Amy," pursued Mollieinterestedly. "We know she didn't die."

  "Well, I should say she didn't!" said Amy roundly. "She was as good asever in ten minutes and laughing at me for being so frightened. But wehad to have the rug sent away to get the stain out," she addedsignificantly.

  "Huh," said the girls, and once more became thoughtful.

  "But suppose you were right, Betty?" said Mollie, after a while."Suppose our poor musician is torturing himself by thinking he hascommitted a crime that he hasn't? What could you possibly do about it?"

  "I don't just know," Betty admitted truthfully.

  "We might ask your father," Grace hazarded, but Betty turned on her,startled.

  "That's just the thing I don't want to do!" she said hurriedly. "Dad isjust the best and most easy-going father in the world, but he has aterribly stern sense of justice. I'm not sure he wouldn't think we weremaking ourselves--oh, what do you call it----"

  "Accessories after the fact?" suggested Mollie, helpfully.

  "That's it," said Betty. "He might argue that we were committing a crimeourselves by helping to hide a criminal----"

  "Well, maybe we are, at that," said Grace, uncomfortably.

  "They can put you in jail for that sort of thing, can't they?" addedAmy, a suggestion which certainly did not add to the cheerfulness of theatmosphere.

  "I don't care," said Betty stoutly. "I'd rather go to jail than delivera man to a doubtful justice--especially when he may really be innocent.Anyway," she added, reasonably: "who is there to know that we went toPaul Loup's cabin the other day? I'm very sure no one saw us go in orcome out, and if we keep quiet no one will have to know. That's why Ididn't even want to take dad into our confidence."

  "But if our musician is, as you think, innocent," Grace insisted, "thenyour father could do more for him than we."

  "But we don't know that he is innocent. That's only my idea," saidBetty. "And dad would probably think it was a very foolish one. Maybe itis, for all I know," she added dubiously.

  "How about Allen?" said Grace suddenly after another rather longsilence. "He would certainly sympathize with our poor hermit and, beinga lawyer, he would probably be able to think up some way that we mightestablish the man's innocence or guilt without giving away hiswhereabouts. There, how's that for a brilliant idea?" she finishedproudly.

  "I had already thought of that," admitted Betty, while the girls turnedamused eyes upon her. "But I was almost afraid to suggest it."

  "Maybe Allen would agree with your father that we, ought to turn himover to justice," said Mollie, but Betty shook her head vigorously.

  "Never! Not Allen!" she declared fervently. "He believes the otherfellow innocent until he is proved guilty."

  "So does the law," said Amy wisely.

  "Yes, but the law has sent many an innocent man to prison nevertheless,"retorted Mollie. "We don't always find justice in the courts."

  "Hear, hear," cried Grace. "Get a soap box, Mollie."

  "Then it is settled that we are to tell Allen, is it?" said Bettyeagerly. "I'm sure he will find some way to help us."

  "If we can pry him loose from the mining outfit," laughed Mollie. "Heseems to have gold fever worse than any of them."

  But Allen had been busy, during the intervals when he could tear himselfaway from the fascination of the mining operations, on some legalmatters.

  Mrs. Nelson, and her husband also, had feared that these numerousrelatives of her great uncle, of whose existence she herself hadscarcely been aware, might see fit to contest the old man's willespecially when it became apparent that his property at this time wasfar more valuable than it had been at the time of his death.

  Allen, after considerable investigation, was able to set their fears atrest upon this point, however, by asserting that the old gentleman hadmade only one will and that he thought it very doubtful under thecircumstances that the relatives would take the case into the courts.They were not Mr. Barcolm's children and grandchildren, as Lizzie hadsupposed, but distant relatives whom at one time and another the old manhad befriended and gathered about him, but who had later quarreled withtheir benefactor.

  "Anyway," Mrs. Nelson decided happily, "if we really do find some gold Iwill give each one of them a share of it, even to the littlest."

  On this particular afternoon the girls found Allen, not at the mines asthey supposed they would, but at the ranch house busy with some papers.

  When they besought him to come out for a ride, he hesitated at first,saying that he ought to get his work done before night. But they finallypersuaded him not to let duty interfere with pleasure.

  "All right," he surrendered at last. "If you will get one of the boysto saddle Lightning for me I will be with you in ten minutes."

  He kept his promise, and in a short time was listening to the strangesttale he had ever heard. As he listened his face became more and moreserious.

  "But, girls, this thing sounds impossible!" he burst forth, finally."Are you telling me that you, alone and unprotected, managed to inveiglethis murderer into confessing his
crime to you? Gee, it's--it'sunbelievable! The four of you would be a great help to me in myprofession," he added, with a chuckle.

  "I didn't think you would take it as a joke," said Betty, reproachfully.

  "It isn't a joke," returned Allen, his face grave again. "It's a mightyserious business, if you will excuse my saying so. It makes me sick whenI think of the chance you took." He was speaking to all the girls, buthis look of concern was for Betty.

  "Oh, we don't want to think about ourselves," said the latter,impatiently. "We've done a good deal more dangerous things than that inour lives. We thought--we hoped--you might help us to prove hisinnocence----"

  "But the man's guilty," said Allen, surprised. "We have that by his ownconfession----"

  With a glance of despair at the others, Betty interrupted him.

  "Listen to me, Allen," she said. "This is what I think----" And she wenton to tell him her idea while he listened, at first with a smile offaint amusement on his lips which gradually changed to grave admirationas he realized Betty's unfailing faith in the basic goodness of humannature.

  "I hope you are right, little girl," he said at last, when she hadfinished and was looking at him earnestly. "I'd like to believe you wereright----"

  "But you can't?" she finished for him, trying to stifle thedisappointment in her heart.

  "No, I can't," he answered truthfully. "When a man is so sure of hiscrime that he flees his own country, gives up money and fame to escapethe law, you may be pretty sure that his crime was a real one."

  "But, Allen, you don't know the man," Betty pleaded, pretty close totears in the bitterness of her disappointment. "No one could make thekind of music he does and be truly wicked. I wish you could have methim. I think you would have tried a little harder to help him."

  "I'm willing to help him, if I can," Allen answered gently, feeling thathe would be almost willing to step into this poor musician's place ifhe might have Betty plead for him as she had just done for the other."What is it you would like me to do?"

  Then suddenly the great idea popped full grown into Betty's head.

  "I have it!" she cried. "Why not write to Paul Loup's manager in NewYork and ask him for particulars?"

  "Capital!" replied Allen approvingly, while the girls looked at theirLittle Captain admiringly. "If anybody ought to be able to give usinformation, he surely is the one."

  "And, Allen," begged Betty, reining her horse close to Allen and layinga timid hand on his arm, "you won't even whisper a word of what we'vetold you--not for your foolish old law, or anything else?"

  "Of course not," said Allen, smiling at her. "We have to give the poorfellow his chance."