CHAPTER XIIA CLUE

CHAPTER XIIA CLUE

THAT so large a family was quartered at the Ross ranch caused no special comment. It was the custom of the country, destitute of wayside inns, and sparsely settled, for any house to be opened to the passing traveler, and families often received for any length of time, those whose circumstances made it difficult for them to do otherwise than accept such hospitality as was offered them. In the case of those congregated at the Ross ranch all were acquainted; they were neighbors, and were as congenial a party as could be found in that much mixed country. Mrs. Van Dorn was a more than usually refined woman who had come to Texas because of her husband’s ill health, and after his death had remained because of her eldest daughter’s marriage to a young Englishman who had settled in the neighborhood. Both Christine and Alison enjoyed her gentle presence, and though she spent most of her time at the bedside of her son, they appreciated such half hours as she found time to give them. She was joined often by her daughter, Laura, a pleasant girl, devoted to Alison and glad of an excuse to see her often. Louisa, feeling that shewas in some measure responsible for Blythe’s plight, took it upon herself to supply the invalid with dainties, and not a day passed that she did not bear some covered dish to the little cabin. The “likely darky from Ferginny” now reigning in the kitchen, rather resented Louisa’s claims to being the best cook in the land, but allowed her full sway in the matter of preparing dishes for the invalid.

The effort to hunt down Pike Smith proved unavailing, though an attempt was made to carry out Alison’s suggestions, and one day John beckoned to his younger sister and led her to a spot where they could be free from interruption. “Can you go with me for a ride?” he said. “We’ve unearthed the old Mexican woman, Brigida, thanks to Pedro.”

“Good! And have you learned anything from her?” asked Alison, eagerly.

“Not yet. She professes ignorance on all subjects connected with Pike Smith. That’s why I want you to go with me to interview her. One thing we have learned, though not from her, and that is her son has been concerned in some horse thieving, and we believe he belongs to the gang of which Pike was the leader.”

“That is a good point to know.”

“We think so, too, and though we have no proofs it will be as well to use our suspicions as facts.”

Alison did not delay in getting ready for her ride.She expected great results, was so sanguine and built up such possibilities all the way along, that her brother finally told her that she ran ahead of all reason. “I believe you expect her to produce Steve from a box or a bag,” he said, “as if he were a cat or a hen.”

“I shall not be surprised at anything,” declared Alison laughing. But when they reached the little adobe hut matters did not look so promising. At first the old woman declared that she had never seen Alison before, that she knew no Americanos and did not wish to know them. She wished to be left in peace and could not be disturbed by curious persons asking questions about what she could not tell.

“But surely you do remember me,” said Alison, bending down to look into the skinny yellow face and to catch the expression of the bleary old eyes. “Look at me well,” she insisted. “Don’t you remember the little hut where Pike Smith one day brought a young woman for you to search?”

“No, no.” The woman pushed her away and Alison looked at her, surprised and chagrined. “The old wretch,” she said in a whisper to her brother. “John, suppose you go out of hearing for a few minutes; but first give me a little money.”

BUT SURELY YOU DO REMEMBER ME“‘BUT SURELY YOU DO REMEMBER ME.’”

“‘BUT SURELY YOU DO REMEMBER ME.’”

“‘BUT SURELY YOU DO REMEMBER ME.’”

“You are right,” said John, “that is a salve that will often cure poor eyesight.” He slipped a dollar into her hand and walked away. Alison beckoned theold woman to one side, displaying the money as she did so, and was pleased to see that she followed eagerly. “You shall have this,” said the girl, in a low tone, “if you will answer my questions. It does not matter whether you remember me or not; one often forgets faces.” She found herself sufficiently fluent in the use of Spanish to be at no loss for words. “Now, good mother,” she went on, “please tell me if I was the only one Pike Smith ever brought to that hut in the woods. Did he ever bring there a young man about my brother’s age? My brother is over there, you see. This young man of whom I speak was darker than he, and his name was Stephen. It was about a year ago, a little more, perhaps.”

The woman shook her head, her eye on the money which Alison held conspicuously. “Tell me this, at least, was it your home or his?” Alison continued her questions.

“It was not mine,” Brigida ventured.

“Then it must have been his. Can you not tell me something of this man, Smith?”

Brigida would not inform upon him; he had been good to her.

“Then he must have had some reason for being so,” Alison said conclusively. “I have no doubt he spared that son of yours, and he probably threatened you to expose him if you did not keep silence about those doings of his.” She kept her eye upon the old womanand saw that the shot told. “Now we know all about that son of yours,” she added.

“Oh, no, no, señorita,” began Brigida, beginning to show signs of alarm.

“Do not be afraid,” said Alison soothingly. “Now, if Pike Smith threatened to expose your son in case you did not do his bidding, I can understand why you are not anxious to remember me. But, my good Brigida, if you are not willing to answer a few questions, which can do neither you nor your son harm, I am afraid it will be the worse for your son. My brother and his friends are very determined and they have discovered things which are not to the credit of those you are trying to shield. I happen to know who it was that was with Pike Smith when he came to our ranch last fall to steal our horses; it was the night that Cyrus Sparks was hurt, you may remember, and if I were to use that knowledge against your son it would go hard with him.” Alison jumped at her conclusions, but she saw that she was making an impression. “If I were to identify your son,” she went on, “and if my brother and his friends were to use the information they possess, I think you will be sorry that you did not answer the few harmless questions that I wish to ask you. Cannot you see that it would be much better if you were to tell me what I want to know and allow me to use my own discretion in repeating it? I promise to tell only so much as may beof benefit to us and will screen your son, so that his name shall not appear at all. You shall have this dollar, too. Pike Smith will never dare to show his face on this side the border, that you well know, and can do you no injury whatever you may say.”

Brigida twisted her knotty old hands together helplessly. She had sworn not to tell anything that went on in the small hut, and what would the padre say if she confessed to having broken her vow?

“But the padre will forgive you,” Alison went on. “If you show him that it was necessary for you to break your promise in order to shield your son, he will forgive you.

“Which would be better, Brigida, to protect your son or that wicked man? The padre will understand and because you are a mother he will forgive you; otherwise think what will be the fate of your son.”

Brigida groaned, but drew Alison further away from the blank adobe wall.

“It is true, señorita,” she said; “there were more than one brought to that place, not any other woman but yourself, though there were men, yes, some to be buried in the woods, some to be sent out of the country. I remember one Americano who may perhaps be the young man you seek. It was a little more than a year ago. They had tried to get his horse, but the creature escaped and Pike Smith was much angered, for the horse was a fine one; he was veryanxious to get it. I heard them say that the horse got away, for that it had as much sense as a human being.”

Alison gave an eager exclamation. “Was it a coal black horse, young, and cleanly cut, with fine head and mettlesome spirit?”

“I cannot tell, señorita, for I did not see the beast, but the young man was brought to the hut much bruised. He lay there for a day and then he was taken away, I know not where.”

“It must have been Steve; I am sure it must have been,” said Alison with conviction. “Describe him to me, good Brigida and you shall have more than my thanks.”

“He was of your brother’s size, but dark, as you said. I did not learn his name, for I do not speak the language of the Americanos.”

“You have no idea where they took him?”

“I was not allowed to ask questions, and Señor Smith did not converse in my own language to my son, who knows the Americano well.”

“Oh, if I could but see your son. Would it not be possible?” asked Alison imploringly.

Brigida shook her head. “No, no, señorita, I can tell you nothing of him. I would not if I could, for even now I must warn him. It is only because I believe you are true and will not harm an old woman and her only child I have told you what Iknow about your friend. The rest would do you no good.”

“But have you no idea where they took him? That is all I shall ask you. I can see that anything more would be of no value to me. If you can but tell me where they took him, this dollar with two more shall be yours, and I will promise you on my honor to try to prevent them from seeking your son as they are intending to do. If you know where they took the young man, tell me, Brigida. He was to have married my sister, my dear sweet sister who has waited and mourned all these months, dreading to hear of his death yet hoping he may still be alive. You were once young yourself, Brigida, and if the young father of your son had been spirited away and you had not known whether he was dead or alive would not the world have been a dolorous place to you? Tell me where they have taken him for the sake of my sister of the breaking heart.”

“Ah, señorita, I wish I might give you good news, but I fear there is none for you. I heard them say that they would take him across the border when they carried their horses; and it was then war time. They may have left him to be taken by some band of Indians, or they may have given him to our own soldiers. I do not know; I only know they did not mean he should return.”

“But why spare him at all? I do not see why PikeSmith should stand at killing him outright. He had no conscience and did not hesitate to kill poor old Cyrus Sparks.”

“Ah yes, señorita, it was that old man who would not permit bloodshed. He was in company with Señor Smith in this expedition and demanded that the young man should not die here, but should be sent from the country.”

“That is a good word from poor old Cyrus,” said Alison. “Well, Brigida, there is hope, and there is not hope. I thank you very much for telling me this. I will go to my brother at once and get you the rest of the money. Take this.” She slipped her coin into the woman’s hand and returned to her brother, who was waiting impatiently.

“Well, what luck?” he asked eagerly.

“I have learned a great deal, but I must have two more dollars at once, and then I will come back and tell you. I think my information is worth the money.”

“Then I cheerfully give it,” said John diving down into his pocket and producing the silver which Alison promptly placed in the old woman’s hands, returning to mount her horse and to pour forth her tale into her brother’s attentive ears, though she allowed no reference to Brigida’s son to escape her.

“Well,” exclaimed John, when she had finished, “that is well worth knowing, though what I can’t seeis why Pike didn’t get Steve out of the way for once and all instead of packing him over the border.”

“I suppose Cyrus had his say in the matter. You see they were in cohoots, and no doubt, each being in the other’s power, everything had to be agreed upon unanimously, or else the one who differed felt that he might be informed upon.”

“I think that is quite true. I suppose you didn’t learn anything of the Mexican, who it is believed was the third one of the gang.”

“No, I don’t know a thing about him. If he is Brigida’s son she took precious good care not to let me know his whereabouts. I had to scare her nearly to death before I could get a word out of her, and it was only by pretending to know much more than I did that I found out anything at all. Evidently the old woman had been made to take a solemn vow not to disclose anything that went on under her observation, and I think, even now, she is in deadly fear that something will happen to her; that was why I had to give her the extra money, so she could pay it to the priest. What do you think, John? Is there any hope of Steve’s being alive?”

“Of course there is hope. Now that we know he was taken over the border we may expect almost anything fortunate may have happened.”

“But why hasn’t he tried to come back, if he is safe, or why has he not written a single line? He shouldknow that we, especially Christine, must be anxious.”

“I cannot say why. In war times communication is not easy. He may be in some out-of-the-way place from which it is impossible for him either to escape or to send a message. When the war is over we can begin to look for him.” Yet, in spite of this cheerful attitude, John felt that there was very little expectation of Stephen’s return, and in this opinion most of his friends concurred.

Christine, however, caught at this last straw of hope, saying, when Alison related her story, “And he was alive while I was mourning him as dead, so why should he not be living now? For the first time, Alison, I have a real hope that he will come back. Oh, why did we not know this when Cyrus Sparks was alive? I cannot forgive him for keeping silence when he knew how terrible it was for us to have found Steve missing.”

“You could not expect him to tell of a thing so much to his own discredit. You know what would have happened if it had been known that he belonged to a gang of horse thieves.”

“He might have found some way of letting us know without implicating himself.”

“I don’t see how he could, for if Steve had come back it would have been all up with Cyrus and Pike.”

“I see, I see,” sighed Christine. “Well, little sister,you have brought me some good news, anyhow, and I thank you for it. How did John happen to take you to see that old woman?”

“Because I can speak tolerable Spanish. You see what an immense advantage my acquaintance with Lolita has been,” said Alison, laughing.

“I am sure I never objected to it greatly. It is Ira and Neal and the Haleys who despise the Mexicans.”

“If they were all like Lolita I should think them very foolish, but those I have seen to-day are certainly not descended from blue-blood dons, or if they are they have deteriorated.”

“I wish I could see that old woman and could talk to her,” said Christine, striking her hands impatiently together. “I would ask her a thousand questions about Steve. Oh, Alison, to think that he was so near and we did not know it. I am fairly wild when I think of it. Now where is he? Ah, if I but knew, if I but knew.”

“Never mind, dear, it will come out well yet; mark my words. See, there comes Mrs. Van Dorn.”

“My bonny laddie is sleeping quietly,” said Blythe’s mother, as she came up to the gallery where the girls were sitting; “and as he does not need me I thought I would join you for a while,” she added. “I left Louisa in charge and she has promised to let me know when he wakens. What a dear, good, cheerful creature she is, and that big rough husband of hers is mydelight. Isn’t it strange, girls, upon what a different plane one is willing to place oneself down here? Now at home, any one who murdered the king’s English and who lived as most of our neighbors do, would be considered impossible.”

“Alison and I have often spoken of that,” said Christine. “Look at dear old Hannah Maria Haley for example.”

“That is another peculiarity; every one here is old so and so. If it is a boy of eighteen who happens to be married, or a young woman of twenty-five who isn’t married, they are spoken of as old. Now Hannah Maria cannot be over thirty, yet everybody calls her ‘Old’ Hannah Maria.”

“I suppose it is because she is so fat and motherly,” suggested Alison. “She certainly is the best old soul.”

“There you go again,” laughed Mrs. Van Dorn. “It is a pity she has no children of her own to mother.”

“But what would the neighborhood do without her?” said Christine. “She is the dependence of everybody in trouble.”

“Yes, and after all, what a higgledy-piggledy house hers would be in which to rear children; chickens, hounds, cats, and sometimes even pigs, running in and out and no care at all for neatness and order.”

“It is so in lots of places,” Alison remarked.

“So it is. I thought when we first came down here that the household arrangements in the few places where we stopped must be the exception, but they are certainly the rule. I have seen as many as three beds in the main room where everything went on, cooking, sleeping and eating. It seemed perfectly dreadful to me then, but I found it was a matter of pride to set up as many beds as possible, the more beds, the more generous the accommodations, and I actually came to it myself when I found that I was expected to entertain any casual wayfarer who happened to want lodging.”

“I shall never forget what a delightful surprise your house was to us,” said Alison. “After staying at Hannah Maria’s it seemed a palace. I don’t see why so many want to live in such a lop-lolly way. John told us a great deal about it before we came and we stipulated for several things. We were determined to have our own milch cows, for one thing, so we could have good butter.”

“Such butter as they give you!” ejaculated Mrs. Van Dorn.

“Then we were bent upon having a good tight house. Half of them are open to the gallery, and when there comes a norther the way the wind sweeps through that great triangular space is a caution.”

“They complain that lumber is so scarce.”

“And three sawmills within ten miles. We inquiredinto that and John built our house accordingly. It is not a very showy affair but we think it fairly comfortable.”

“It is a mansion compared to the Haleys’, and is very comfortable.”

“Of course there must be a place provided for every Tom, Dick, and Harry to sleep, but they usually want no more than a corner of the gallery and a blanket, and since John has added the man’s room, even in winter we can accommodate a good many. For ourselves we have an unusual arrangement of two bedrooms up-stairs, though they are pretty hot in summer, and I think now it was a mistake not to have all the rooms on the first floor. It will come to a bed in the living-room yet, I think.”

“Another thing that we were quite set upon,” said Alison, “was good, wholesome food. I think I should die of indigestion if I were obliged to live on what they consider sufficient down here. They don’t live so in other parts of the South.”

“They certainly do in Arkansas and parts of Missouri,” said Mrs. Van Dorn; “I cannot speak from experience of the other states.”

“We can. At home we always had good light pone, and I don’t see why they shouldn’t have it here. Eggs are plentiful and so is milk, if one chooses to take a little trouble about it. Is it laziness or ignorance that is the trouble?”

“A little of both, I think. At first it was a hard life for the pioneers, as it must always be for them, so the easiest way was the best way and still continues to be, though the country is so rapidly filling up. Where is your brother, girls?”

“Gone to a negro hiring at the county house. He needs more hands on the place, for he is continually increasing his stock,” Christine told her friend. “We shall have quite a big rancho if we continue to extend our bounds. Ours has been only a hacienda till lately. I never used to know the difference between that and a rancho.”

“And what is the difference?”

“One is simply a country residence, a farm proper; the other is strictly a stock farm. By the way, have you heard that Louisa is to inherit her father’s property and that it is decided she and Ira will live on the nearer place instead of going to Ira’s claim which is twenty miles away? We are so pleased that we shall have them near. One of John’s errands to-day was to go with Ira to settle up Lou’s law matters. They think there will be no difficulty, although it is generally thought that old Cyrus obtained his money in rather a questionable way; but there are no proofs. It is certain that Louisa is his legal heiress and he acknowledged her as such. She wrote to my aunt for certain facts to prove her identity, so we think all will be settled without delay.”

“I am glad to hear it. There comes the young woman now. My boy must be awake,” said Mrs. Van Dorn, slipping her knitting into its bag and going forth.

“What a nice mother-in-law she will make,” said Christine, looking after her.

“Then why don’t you set your cap for Blythe?” asked Alison flippantly.

“You know why,” replied Christine, gravely. And Alison, at this reproof, ran down the path to join Louisa.

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