"COMANCHE . . . LEAPED FORWARD LIKE A CAT.""COMANCHE . . . LEAPED FORWARD LIKE A CAT."
He was in khaki, too, with trousers that tucked into high "puttees"—thick pigskin leggings which gave his long limbs quite a substantial appearanceand himself no end of comfort. A soft shirt and a carelessly knotted bandana gave the finishing touches to his attire. He had even turned in the neck of his shirt so as to be quite one of the cowmen, secretly hoping that the girls would not notice how white his throat was.
It was a gay cavalcade that cantered out of the big corral, the five girls leading; Alec, Pinto Pete, and Uncle Joe forming a rear guard, with Don and Solomon capering at their heels; while a crowd of little "greasers" clung on to the bars, their eyes big with the wonder of it all.
"Lucky we're not on the streets of Woodford," remarked Alec, looking with amused eyes over the well mounted company.
"Why?" asked Blue Bonnet a trifle resentfully. "Aren't we grand enough for the East?"
"Sure! But I'm afraid we'd be arrested for running a circus without a license!"
This piece of wit so tickled Pinto Pete that he nearly stampeded the bunch by bursting again into his ear-splitting laugh. Sarah grabbed the handy pommel with a nervous clutch that was eloquent of her state of mind. And that action was all that saved her. For Comanche, taking Pete's guffaw for a command, leaped forward like a cat, and a moment later the whole crowd was galloping madly across the level meadow.
It is probable that if Sarah's hair had not alreadybeen as light as hair can well be, that wild ride would have turned it several shades lighter. The terrors that were compressed into those two hours are beyond description, while the bobbing, bumping and shaking of her poor plump body left reminders that only time and witch hazel were able to eradicate.
When they returned at noon Gertrudis had a wonderful dinner awaiting them, and the riders, with their appetites freshened by the air and exercise, fell upon it like a pack of famished wolves. All except Sarah. Protesting that she was not in the least hungry, she went at once to her room. On the little stand by her bed lay the Spanish grammar and dictionary, mute evidences of the way she had intended to spend the siesta hour. She gave them not so much as a glance, but stepping out of her clothes left them in a heap where they fell,—an action indicating a state of demoralization hardly to be believed of the parson's daughter,—and flung herself into bed with a groan.
Two hours later she was awakened by the other four girls who had turned inquisitors, and while two were stripping off the bedclothes the other two applied a feather to the soles of her feet.
"Oh—is it morning?" gasped Sarah, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "It doesn't seem as if I had been asleep a minute."
"Such a waste of time!" quoted Kitty mockingly."There's such a thing, Sarah, as overdoing the siesta," she taunted.
Sarah drew up her feet and sat on them, smothering the groan that arose to her lips at the action. Every bone and joint had a new and awful kind of ache, and in that minute Sarah wished she had never heard of the Blue Bonnet ranch. Just then came the welcome clatter of dishes and at the doorway appeared Benita bearing a tray of good things, while back of her was Grandmother Clyde.
"Now off with you,—you tormentors," the Señora commanded gaily. "This poor child must be nearly famished."
"Grandmother's pet!" sang Blue Bonnet over her shoulder, as obeying orders, the four girls left the suffering Sarah in peace.
Existence assumed a brighter hue to Sarah when she had eaten the generous repast Benita set before her; and when she had bathed and rubbed herself with the Pond's Extract Mrs. Clyde had secretly provided her with, life seemed once more worth living. But she was very quiet and moved with great circumspection for the rest of the day, quite content to leave to the others the handling of the fireworks in the evening.
Uncle Cliff's "dangerous" box yielded still more wonders. The noisy bombs and giant crackers of the morning were followed by pyrotechnics that aroused unbounded admiration from the grown-upsand caused an excitement among the small greasers that threatened to end in a human conflagration. A small fortune went up in gigantic pin-wheels; flower-pots that sent up amazing blossoms in all the hues of the rainbow; rockets that burst in mid-air and let fall a shower of coiling snakes, which, in their turn, exploded into a myriad stars; Roman candles that sometimes went off at the wrong end and caused a wild scattering of the audience in their immediate vicinity; and "set-pieces" that were the epitome of this school of art.
It would have been hard to say which was most tired, the hostess or her guests, when the last spark faded from the big "Lone Star" of Texas which ended the show. No bedtime frolic to-night; the four in the nursery undressed in a dead quiet and fell asleep before their heads fairly touched the pillows. In her own little room Sarah held another seance with the witch hazel bottle, and went to sleep only to dream of a wild ride across the meadows on Blue Bonnet's rocking-horse, with a fierce band of Comanche Indians pursuing her, yelling fiendishly all the while, and keeping up a mad fusillade of Roman candles.
"What'sthe program for this morning?" asked Uncle Cliff, as the ranch party assembled on the veranda after a very late breakfast.
"I don't know what the others are going to do," said Sarah, "but I'm going to write letters."
The other girls exchanged amused glances: it was evident that Sarah wished to forestall suggestions of another ride. Kitty was beginning to show symptoms of sauciness when Mrs. Clyde interrupted kindly with—"I think Sarah's suggestion quite in order. Every one at home will be looking for letters."
"Uncle Cliff telegraphed," said Blue Bonnet, loath to settle down to so prosaic a pursuit.
"But a telegram isn't very satisfying to mothers and fathers, dear," replied her grandmother. "And think of poor Susy and Ruth."
"I intend to write them, too," remarked Sarah.
"Let's all write them!" exclaimed Blue Bonnet.
"That's the right spirit," said Señora with an approving nod. "A 'round-robin' letter will cheer the poor girls wonderfully."
"You hear the motion, are all in favor?" asked Alec.
"Will you write a 'robin,' too?" bargained Kitty, who loved to torment the youth.
"Sure!" he agreed at once, thus taking the wind out of her sails.
"Aye, aye, then!" they all exclaimed, and the motion was declared carried.
There was a scattering for paper and ink, after which every one settled down for an hour's scribbling, some using the broad rail of the veranda as a table, others repairing to desks in the house. Blue Bonnet doubled up jack-knife fashion on one of the front steps, using her knees for a pad; while Sarah, complaining that she could not think with so many people about her, took herself off to the window-seat in the nursery.
"The idea of wanting to think!" exclaimed Kitty. "I never stop to think when I write letters."
"You don't need to tell that to any one who has ever heard from you," remarked Blue Bonnet. "The one letter I had from you in New York took me an hour to puzzle out,—it began in the middle and ended at the top of the first page, and there were six 'ands' and four 'ifs' in one sentence."
"That's quite an accomplishment—I'll wager you couldn't get in half so many," retorted Kitty. And then for a while there was silence, broken only by the scratching of pens and the query from BlueBonnet as to whether there were two s's or two p's in "disappoint."
"To Susy and Ruth Doyle, Woodford,Massachusetts."The Blue Bonnet Ranch,"July the fifth."You Poor Dears: You'll never know if you live to be a thousand years old what a fearful disappointment it was when Doctor Clark told me the awful news. Where did you get it? Is it very bad? And do you have to gargle peroxide of hydrogen? Amanda says she just lived on it when her throat was bad. Are you honestly as red as lobsters? It's a perfect shame you should have to be sick—and in vacation, too. There might be some advantages if it should happen—say at examination time. Grandmother says it is very unusual to have scarlet fever in warm weather,—it just seems as if you must have gone out of your way to get it—or it went out of its way to get you."The ranch party isn't a bit complete without you. I'm going to take pictures of everything and everybody so as to show you when we get back. That sounds as if I meant to go back again next fall, when really it isn't decided yet. I'm more in love with the ranch than ever and feel as if I never wanted to leave it again. It's so fine and big out here. There's so much air to breathe and such along way to look, and you can throw a stone as far as you like without 'breaking a window or a tradition'—as Alec says. We have our traditions, too, but they can stand any amount of stone-throwing—in fact that's part of them."It's worth crossing the continent to see Sarah on horseback, riding across the saddle in a wild Western way that would shock her reverend father out of a whole paragraph. Kitty dared her and I must say she showed pluck—Comanche can gosomewhen he gets started, and Sarah stayed with him to the finish. But you can imagine why she wanted to write letters to-day instead of riding again. You can thank her for the round robin. There, I've reached the bottom of the page before I've begun to tell you anything. But the others will make up for it, I reckon. No more now—I must save strength for a letter to Aunt Lucinda. Do hurry and get well and out of quarantine so that you can write to"Your devoted"Blue Bonnet.""Dear Susy and Ruth: We arrived on Monday evening after a very pleasant journey. The name of the station where you get off is Jonah—isn't that odd? We had to drive twenty miles in a very queer kind of vehicle in order to reach Blue Bonnet's home, and this letter will have to go backover the same road in order to be posted. I think I had better go back to the beginning and tell you all about our trip from the time we left Woodford."The private car we came in is called The Wanderer and it is really a pity you could not have shared it with us. It is much grander than Mrs. Clyde's drawing-room at home,—the mahogany shone till you could see your face in it, and wherever there was not mahogany there was a mirror, and Slivers, the porter, dusted everything about twenty times a day. If you could see Slivers I should not have to explain why he is called by that name. I am sure he is the tallest and slimmest man I have ever seen. And that is odd, too, for you always think of them as plump and fat. He is a negro, you know, and doesn't seem to mind it a bit, but is as jolly as if he were white and as fat as you think he ought to be, and sang and played his banjo in the evenings quite like a civilized person. He waited on table, too, while the chief—the cook, you know—prepared our meals in the most cunning little kitchen you can imagine."It was a very interesting trip. Sometimes we would begin our breakfast in one state and before we had finished we would be in another, and yet there would seem to be no difference. I think travelling is a very interesting way to learn Geography, for you forget to think of Kansas as yellowand Oklahoma as purple, and think of them asrealplaces with trees and farms and other things like Massachusetts. I knew already that Texas is as big as all the New England states put together, but I never reallygraspedit before. I am learning new things every day, some Spanish, though not as much as I could wish. Yesterday I learned to ride astride. That is, nearly learned. I don't feel entirely at home that way yet and it has tired me considerably, but I dare say it will come easier after a while. My horse is named Comanche, and he looks just that way. There is more white to his eyes than anything else."Benita is Blue Bonnet's old nurse. She does the most exquisite drawn-work and is going to teach me (it would be as well for you not to mention this when you write) the spider-web stitch and the Maltese cross, so that I can do a waist for Blue Bonnet. She is doing so much for us all that I want to make some return for her hospitality. Blue Bonnet, I mean, not Benita."I do hope you will soon be better. I felt so mean at leaving without even saying good-bye. But I had to think of all my brothers and sisters and the girls—I couldn't expose them to the fever, you know. I hope you liked the postals we sent. Amanda and I came very near being left once when we couldn't find the post-box at Kansas City,—we had to run a block, while Alec and Kitty stoodon the back platform and laid bets on the winner. (Amanda won.)"We are all well and hope you are the same,—I mean I hope you are better and will soon be well."With best love,"Sarah Jane Blake.""Oh, girls, I am simply speechless and can't find a word to say when I try to describe our grand trip and this perfect peach of a place, and the glorious time we have had and are having ever since we left pokey old Woodford and arrived at the Blue Bonnet ranch. I keep pinching myself to see if I'm really me, but it isn't at all convincing, and I suppose I'll simply go on treading air and not believe in the reality of a thing till I come to earth in time to hear the Jolly Good say—'Miss Kitty, you may take problem number ninety-four'—and wake up to the monotonous old grind again—oh, if you could only see this darling old house and the picturesque Mexicans—rather dirty some of them (I suppose that's why they are called greasers) and the perfectly dear way they adore Blue Bonnet and their deference to her 'amigos'—I tell you I feel like a princess when they call me 'Señorita' with a musical accent that makes you downright sick with envy. Why anybody on earth ever left the West to go and settle up the East I don't see,—you may think I mean that the other way about but I don't, for anybodycan see at half a glance that this country is as old as Methusalem—the live-oaks look as if they'd been here forever and ever and would stay as much longer—they're all 'hoary with moss' and all that sort of thing like that poem of Tennyson's—or maybe it is Longfellow's—it doesn't matter which in vacation, thank goodness. I don't like to seem to be rubbing it in about our good times, for it's just too hateful that you can't be here, too, and ride like mad for miles without coming to a fence and wear the adorable riding-suits Mr. Ashe got for us in New York—all seven alike and as becoming as anything—and have the best things to eat, wear, do, and see every minute of the day."This won't go into the envelope with the rest if I run on any longer so I'll close,—with a fat hard hug and lots of love to you both,"Kitty.""Dear Girls: Don't you ever go and get conditioned at school; take my solemn warning. That awful thing hanging over me is going to do its best to spoil my grand summer in Texas. I intended to do a lot of studying as soon as we arrived here, so that I might have a few weeks perfectly free from worry; but goodness me, how can anybody open a book when there's something going on every blessed minute of the day? It's a pity it wasn'tSarah who was conditioned. She actually likes to study and if it came to a choice between a horseback ride and doing ten pages of grammar, she'd jump at the grammar. Sometimes I think Sarah isn't made like other girls. Not quite normal, you know."Now that I've seen Blue Bonnet at home, I realize what a hard time she must have had in Woodford, at first especially. She's treated like a perfectqueenhere, and doesn't have to mind a soul except Señora—that's what we call Mrs. Clyde. Fancy having run the ranch all your life and then at fifteen having to start in and obey Miss Clyde, and Mr. Hunt, and the rest of those mighty ones! I think she's a brick to have done it at all, and I take back every criticism I ever made of her. She must be terribly rich, but doesn't put on any airs at all."How is little old Woodford getting along without us? I'm almost ashamed to write Mother and Father, for I can't say I'm homesick and parents always expect you to be. Debby wants to finish my page, so no more now from"Your lovingAmanda.""Dear Susy and Ruth: There's only room for me to say hello, and how are you? I wish I were a grand descriptive genius like Robert Louis Stevenson so that I could describe this wonderful Texas. But description isn't my strong point—you knowhow I just scraped through Eng. Comp. so I'll not try any flights."It isn't half aswildas we used to imagine it. The cowboys don't go shooting up towns and hanging horse-thieves to all the trees the way they do in most of the Western stories. Even the cattle are tame, but Blue Bonnet says that is because they are fenced nowadays, and most of them de-horned. All the cowboys except two are Mexicans, and they are so picturesque and—different. Mr. Ashe says Texas is filling up with negroes but he won't have any on the ranch,—he sticks to the Mexicans, and I'm mighty glad, for they seem just to suit the atmosphere. Juanita, who waits on the table, is a beauty, with the most coquettish airs. Miguel is in love with her, and we all hope she won't keep him waiting too long, for if they are really going to be married, we want a grand wedding while we are here. Wouldn't that be thrilling?"I've just room to sign my name,"Yours, with love,"Debby.""To the absent two-sevenths of the 'We-are-Its'—Greeting! Please don't imagine that I forced my way into this Round Robin affair. My masculine chirography probably looks out of place in this epistolary triumph—ahem!—but you can thank Kitty Clark for it. I don't know whether ornot this is intended as a letter of condolence, but it surely ought to be,—anybody who has to miss this summer-session on the Blue Bonnet ranch deserves flowers and slow music."This letter will be postmarked 'Jonah'—but don't be alarmed; they say it's a harmless one. I'm going to ride over with the mail. Just a little matter of twenty miles, a trifle out here! Kitty says she doesn't see how we can expect any letters to reach a place with such a name, but I've faith in the collection of relatives left behind in Woodford."Now I advise you both, the next time you go into the vicinity of anything catching, cross your fingers and say 'King's Ex.' for you're missing the time of your young lives. As a place of residence, Texas certainly has my vote. A fellow can breathe his lungs full here without robbing the next fellow of oxygen."With unbounded sympathy,"Yours,"Alec Trent."
"To Susy and Ruth Doyle, Woodford,Massachusetts."The Blue Bonnet Ranch,"July the fifth.
"You Poor Dears: You'll never know if you live to be a thousand years old what a fearful disappointment it was when Doctor Clark told me the awful news. Where did you get it? Is it very bad? And do you have to gargle peroxide of hydrogen? Amanda says she just lived on it when her throat was bad. Are you honestly as red as lobsters? It's a perfect shame you should have to be sick—and in vacation, too. There might be some advantages if it should happen—say at examination time. Grandmother says it is very unusual to have scarlet fever in warm weather,—it just seems as if you must have gone out of your way to get it—or it went out of its way to get you.
"The ranch party isn't a bit complete without you. I'm going to take pictures of everything and everybody so as to show you when we get back. That sounds as if I meant to go back again next fall, when really it isn't decided yet. I'm more in love with the ranch than ever and feel as if I never wanted to leave it again. It's so fine and big out here. There's so much air to breathe and such along way to look, and you can throw a stone as far as you like without 'breaking a window or a tradition'—as Alec says. We have our traditions, too, but they can stand any amount of stone-throwing—in fact that's part of them.
"It's worth crossing the continent to see Sarah on horseback, riding across the saddle in a wild Western way that would shock her reverend father out of a whole paragraph. Kitty dared her and I must say she showed pluck—Comanche can gosomewhen he gets started, and Sarah stayed with him to the finish. But you can imagine why she wanted to write letters to-day instead of riding again. You can thank her for the round robin. There, I've reached the bottom of the page before I've begun to tell you anything. But the others will make up for it, I reckon. No more now—I must save strength for a letter to Aunt Lucinda. Do hurry and get well and out of quarantine so that you can write to
"Your devoted"Blue Bonnet."
"Dear Susy and Ruth: We arrived on Monday evening after a very pleasant journey. The name of the station where you get off is Jonah—isn't that odd? We had to drive twenty miles in a very queer kind of vehicle in order to reach Blue Bonnet's home, and this letter will have to go backover the same road in order to be posted. I think I had better go back to the beginning and tell you all about our trip from the time we left Woodford.
"The private car we came in is called The Wanderer and it is really a pity you could not have shared it with us. It is much grander than Mrs. Clyde's drawing-room at home,—the mahogany shone till you could see your face in it, and wherever there was not mahogany there was a mirror, and Slivers, the porter, dusted everything about twenty times a day. If you could see Slivers I should not have to explain why he is called by that name. I am sure he is the tallest and slimmest man I have ever seen. And that is odd, too, for you always think of them as plump and fat. He is a negro, you know, and doesn't seem to mind it a bit, but is as jolly as if he were white and as fat as you think he ought to be, and sang and played his banjo in the evenings quite like a civilized person. He waited on table, too, while the chief—the cook, you know—prepared our meals in the most cunning little kitchen you can imagine.
"It was a very interesting trip. Sometimes we would begin our breakfast in one state and before we had finished we would be in another, and yet there would seem to be no difference. I think travelling is a very interesting way to learn Geography, for you forget to think of Kansas as yellowand Oklahoma as purple, and think of them asrealplaces with trees and farms and other things like Massachusetts. I knew already that Texas is as big as all the New England states put together, but I never reallygraspedit before. I am learning new things every day, some Spanish, though not as much as I could wish. Yesterday I learned to ride astride. That is, nearly learned. I don't feel entirely at home that way yet and it has tired me considerably, but I dare say it will come easier after a while. My horse is named Comanche, and he looks just that way. There is more white to his eyes than anything else.
"Benita is Blue Bonnet's old nurse. She does the most exquisite drawn-work and is going to teach me (it would be as well for you not to mention this when you write) the spider-web stitch and the Maltese cross, so that I can do a waist for Blue Bonnet. She is doing so much for us all that I want to make some return for her hospitality. Blue Bonnet, I mean, not Benita.
"I do hope you will soon be better. I felt so mean at leaving without even saying good-bye. But I had to think of all my brothers and sisters and the girls—I couldn't expose them to the fever, you know. I hope you liked the postals we sent. Amanda and I came very near being left once when we couldn't find the post-box at Kansas City,—we had to run a block, while Alec and Kitty stoodon the back platform and laid bets on the winner. (Amanda won.)
"We are all well and hope you are the same,—I mean I hope you are better and will soon be well.
"With best love,"Sarah Jane Blake."
"Oh, girls, I am simply speechless and can't find a word to say when I try to describe our grand trip and this perfect peach of a place, and the glorious time we have had and are having ever since we left pokey old Woodford and arrived at the Blue Bonnet ranch. I keep pinching myself to see if I'm really me, but it isn't at all convincing, and I suppose I'll simply go on treading air and not believe in the reality of a thing till I come to earth in time to hear the Jolly Good say—'Miss Kitty, you may take problem number ninety-four'—and wake up to the monotonous old grind again—oh, if you could only see this darling old house and the picturesque Mexicans—rather dirty some of them (I suppose that's why they are called greasers) and the perfectly dear way they adore Blue Bonnet and their deference to her 'amigos'—I tell you I feel like a princess when they call me 'Señorita' with a musical accent that makes you downright sick with envy. Why anybody on earth ever left the West to go and settle up the East I don't see,—you may think I mean that the other way about but I don't, for anybodycan see at half a glance that this country is as old as Methusalem—the live-oaks look as if they'd been here forever and ever and would stay as much longer—they're all 'hoary with moss' and all that sort of thing like that poem of Tennyson's—or maybe it is Longfellow's—it doesn't matter which in vacation, thank goodness. I don't like to seem to be rubbing it in about our good times, for it's just too hateful that you can't be here, too, and ride like mad for miles without coming to a fence and wear the adorable riding-suits Mr. Ashe got for us in New York—all seven alike and as becoming as anything—and have the best things to eat, wear, do, and see every minute of the day.
"This won't go into the envelope with the rest if I run on any longer so I'll close,—with a fat hard hug and lots of love to you both,
"Kitty."
"Dear Girls: Don't you ever go and get conditioned at school; take my solemn warning. That awful thing hanging over me is going to do its best to spoil my grand summer in Texas. I intended to do a lot of studying as soon as we arrived here, so that I might have a few weeks perfectly free from worry; but goodness me, how can anybody open a book when there's something going on every blessed minute of the day? It's a pity it wasn'tSarah who was conditioned. She actually likes to study and if it came to a choice between a horseback ride and doing ten pages of grammar, she'd jump at the grammar. Sometimes I think Sarah isn't made like other girls. Not quite normal, you know.
"Now that I've seen Blue Bonnet at home, I realize what a hard time she must have had in Woodford, at first especially. She's treated like a perfectqueenhere, and doesn't have to mind a soul except Señora—that's what we call Mrs. Clyde. Fancy having run the ranch all your life and then at fifteen having to start in and obey Miss Clyde, and Mr. Hunt, and the rest of those mighty ones! I think she's a brick to have done it at all, and I take back every criticism I ever made of her. She must be terribly rich, but doesn't put on any airs at all.
"How is little old Woodford getting along without us? I'm almost ashamed to write Mother and Father, for I can't say I'm homesick and parents always expect you to be. Debby wants to finish my page, so no more now from
"Your lovingAmanda."
"Dear Susy and Ruth: There's only room for me to say hello, and how are you? I wish I were a grand descriptive genius like Robert Louis Stevenson so that I could describe this wonderful Texas. But description isn't my strong point—you knowhow I just scraped through Eng. Comp. so I'll not try any flights.
"It isn't half aswildas we used to imagine it. The cowboys don't go shooting up towns and hanging horse-thieves to all the trees the way they do in most of the Western stories. Even the cattle are tame, but Blue Bonnet says that is because they are fenced nowadays, and most of them de-horned. All the cowboys except two are Mexicans, and they are so picturesque and—different. Mr. Ashe says Texas is filling up with negroes but he won't have any on the ranch,—he sticks to the Mexicans, and I'm mighty glad, for they seem just to suit the atmosphere. Juanita, who waits on the table, is a beauty, with the most coquettish airs. Miguel is in love with her, and we all hope she won't keep him waiting too long, for if they are really going to be married, we want a grand wedding while we are here. Wouldn't that be thrilling?
"I've just room to sign my name,
"Yours, with love,"Debby."
"To the absent two-sevenths of the 'We-are-Its'—Greeting! Please don't imagine that I forced my way into this Round Robin affair. My masculine chirography probably looks out of place in this epistolary triumph—ahem!—but you can thank Kitty Clark for it. I don't know whether ornot this is intended as a letter of condolence, but it surely ought to be,—anybody who has to miss this summer-session on the Blue Bonnet ranch deserves flowers and slow music.
"This letter will be postmarked 'Jonah'—but don't be alarmed; they say it's a harmless one. I'm going to ride over with the mail. Just a little matter of twenty miles, a trifle out here! Kitty says she doesn't see how we can expect any letters to reach a place with such a name, but I've faith in the collection of relatives left behind in Woodford.
"Now I advise you both, the next time you go into the vicinity of anything catching, cross your fingers and say 'King's Ex.' for you're missing the time of your young lives. As a place of residence, Texas certainly has my vote. A fellow can breathe his lungs full here without robbing the next fellow of oxygen.
"With unbounded sympathy,"Yours,"Alec Trent."
Blue Bonnet collected the literary installments from each of the different authors and put them in a big envelope.
"This 'round-robin' is as plump as a partridge," she remarked. "I hope Susy and Ruth won't strain their eyes devouring it."
"The Woodford postman in our part of townwill have an unusually warm greeting, I fancy," said Mrs. Clyde, gathering up all the other letters and placing them with the round-robin in the roomy mail-bag.
"I think Father had better have a social at the church for the We-are-Seven relatives and ask them to bring our letters. Reading and passing them around would make a very interesting evening's entertainment," said Sarah.
Blue Bonnet paused long enough to shake her. "Don't you dare suggest such a horrible thing to your father, Sarah! My letter wasn't intended for—public consumption."
"Nor mine!" exclaimed Kitty. "Father and mother know what a scatter-brain I am, but it's a family skeleton which they don't care to have aired."
"Is the mail all in?" asked Alec in an official tone.
"All in, postmaster," replied Mrs. Clyde, fastening the bag and handing it to him with a smile. "You're not going alone, are you?"
"No, Shady is going along this trip, Señora," he replied.
"Why don't we all go?" asked Blue Bonnet; "it isn't much of a ride."
Sarah looked up in alarm, but met Mrs. Clyde's reassuring glance. "Not this time, dear," she returned to Blue Bonnet. "So far you have had allplay and no work. The piano hasn't been touched since we arrived."
Blue Bonnet said nothing, but into her eyes there sprang a sudden rebellion. Out there by the stables Don and Solomon were frolicking, ready at a moment's notice to dash away at Firefly's heels. Away in front of the house stretched the road and the prairie, calling irresistibly to her restless, roving spirit. And vacation had been so long in coming! If grandmother were going to be like Aunt Lucinda—Again there flashed into her mind the wish so often voiced in Woodford: that there might be two of her, so that one might stay at home and be taught things while the other went wandering about as she liked. All at once she remembered Alec's suggestion—that she adopt Sarah as her "alter ego." A smile drove the cloud from her eyes. "Can't Sarah do my practising while I do her riding?" she asked coaxingly.
Her grandmother hid a smile as she said: "I was under the impression that my coming to the ranch was to see that Blue Bonnet Ashe did her practising, mending, and had coffee only on Sundays."
Blue Bonnet colored. She had uttered those very words, and nobody should say that an Ashe was not sincere. Straightening up she met the questioning looks of the other girls with a resolute glance. "Grandmother is right, as she always is, girls. I'll go and practise, and you—what will you do?"
"I'm sure all the girls will be glad of a little time to themselves," said the Señora. "Let us all do as we like until dinner-time. I've been longing to sit in the shade of the big magnolia ever since I came. I shall take a book and spend my two hours out there, and any one who wishes may share my bower."
"Then I'll be off," said Alec. "Any commissions for me in Jonah?" He stood like an orderly at attention, with the mail-bag slung over one shoulder and his whole bearing expressive of the importance of his mission. The sun and the wind of the prairie had already tanned his smooth skin to the ruddy hue of health, but Mrs. Clyde, observing him closely, could not fail to note how very slim and frail the erect young figure was.
"Isn't twenty miles a rather long ride on a hot day?" she asked tactfully, fearing to wound the sensitive lad.
"We shall reach Kooch's ranch by noon, and we are to rest there until it is cool again," he replied, flushing a little under her solicitous glance.
"Well, keep an eye on Shady!" said Blue Bonnet, waving him good-bye as she went to do her practising.
Fifteen minutes later each member of the ranch party was busily engaged in doing "just as she liked." Mrs. Clyde, deep in a book, sat under the fragrant magnolia; Kitty reclined on a Navajoblanket near her, lazily watching the gay-plumaged birds that made the tree a rendezvous. From the open windows of the living-room came a conscientious rendering of a "Czerny" exercise, enlivened now and then by a bar or two of a rollicking dance, with which Blue Bonnet sugar-coated her pill. In the kitchen Debby and Amanda were deep in the mysteries of "pinoche" under the tutelage of Lisa and Gertrudis; while Sarah, safe inside her own little sanctum, sat and drew threads rapturously, and later, coached by the delighted Benita, wove them into endless spider-webs.
Theysat up late that evening waiting for Alec to come with the mail. Mrs. Clyde and Blue Bonnet were somewhat uneasy, for they knew he had intended to be back in time for their late supper; and when ten o'clock came and no Alec or Shady appeared, they grew openly anxious.
Uncle Cliff refused to share their worry. "Shady's no tenderfoot," he scoffed, "and holding up the mail has gone out of fashion in these parts."
Blue Bonnet had no fear of hold-ups and did not care to express her suspicion that the ride had proved too much for Alec. She found reason to reproach herself: a forty-mile ride for a delicate boy like him was a foolish undertaking and she should have realized it. She had ridden that distance herself innumerable times; but she had practically been reared in the saddle and had lived all her life in this land of great distances. It was very different with Alec. The day of their picnic in Woodford came back to her, and again she saw the boy, worn out by a much shorter ride, lying white and unconscious before the fire in the hunter's cabin. Shegrew almost provoked with her grandmother for having insisted upon her practising instead of riding to Jonah as she had wished. If she had gone along, she at least would have known what to do for Alec in an emergency.
At eleven the moon came up, and rising out of the prairie simultaneously with the golden disk, came Shady, riding alone. A rapid fire of questions greeted him as he came up with the mail.
"Left the young fella at Kooch's," he explained briefly.
"What was the matter?" asked Blue Bonnet anxiously.
"Well, ye see—it was this way,—" Shady paused and then stood awkwardly shifting his sombrero from hand to hand. Blue Bonnet guessed instantly that Alec had sworn the cowboy to secrecy concerning the real reason for his non-appearance, and she refrained from further questioning. But her grandmother took alarm.
"Is he hurt—or ill?" Mrs. Clyde asked quickly.
For a moment Shady avoided her eyes, then resolutely squaring his shoulders he lied boldly: "No, Señora,—the mare went lame on him. He'll be over in the morning."
Mrs. Clyde drew a quick breath of relief; but Blue Bonnet was not so easily reassured. That Kooch had a dozen horses which Alec might have ridden if Strawberry was really disabled, was somethingher grandmother did not know; but the little Texan, used all her life to the easy give and take of ranch life, understood at once that Alec's real reason for staying at the Dutchman's was quite different from the one Shady had so glibly given. She knew better, however, than to press the cowboy, and let him go off to the cook-house without attempting to get at the truth.
"Grammy Kooch will take good care of him," said Uncle Joe; and with her fears thus set at rest, Mrs. Clyde proposed an adjournment to the house to read their letters.
The next morning Blue Bonnet was up before any one else in the house was stirring, and, dressing without arousing any of the other occupants of the nursery, she stole out of the house and made her way to the stable. Some of the Mexicans were already up, feeding the stock and doing the "chores," and one of them saddled Firefly. None of them wondered at Blue Bonnet's early appearance, for since her infancy she had ridden whenever the fancy took her, and now as she dashed out of the corral with Don and Solomon racing madly after her, the men grinned with satisfaction that the Señorita had returned to the ranch unchanged.
As she neared the Kooch ranch she saw a solitary horseman emerging from the gate. He was not looking towards her, and after a moment's scrutiny she began to whistle "All the Blue Bonnets."With a start of surprise Alec glanced up the road and at once galloped towards her.
"Is it really you?" he asked, hardly believing his eyes.
"Nae ither!" she laughed, turning Firefly and falling in with the strawberry mare—whose four legs, she noted, were as sound as ever.
"Well, you are an early bird."
"Lucky you're not a worm,—I'm hungry enough to eat one!" she said gaily. Under cover of the jest she stole a quick look at him. Yes, in spite of the sunburn he looked worn out and ill; he needed to rest and be taken care of. She refrained from asking how he felt and instead kept up a steady fire of nonsense, describing their dull day at the ranch without him. If Alec had felt any resentment at her coming for him, it melted under her light treatment of the situation; and by the time they reached the little "rio" he was more like his usual, interested self.
"I think I'd like to follow up this cree—er—river, I mean," he remarked, looking up the winding, willow-grown course.
"Not before breakfast, thank you!"
"Well, I didn't mean right this minute, but sometime," he corrected.
"We will, surely. I want to introduce you to the lovely spots of the ranch, just as you showed me the charming places about Woodford. It will bedifferent from following the brook as we used to do there, but I think you'll like it. There are picnic places along San Franciscito that can't be beat."
"San Francescheeto?" he echoed; "where's that?"
"That's the name of this river," she replied loftily.
Alec threw back his head and laughed. "The name's bigger than the stream!" he declared.
"It has advantages over the brook, as you'll see. One of them is the swimming hole. Do you swim?"
Alec's eyes glistened. "I'm ready to learn."
"Well, get Shady to teach you. I'm going to make the girls learn. You boys and we girls will have the pool on alternate days,—won't it be fun?"
"The best ever. This is the first I've heard of it."
"I wanted some things for surprises," Blue Bonnet declared. "Isn't it odd your being here and seeing everything I used to talk about? It was a novelty then, but after this I won't have anything left to describe to you. What do you suppose we will talk about on our first jaunt by the brook next spring?"
Alec's face changed oddly. "Maybe there won't be any jaunt by the brook next spring—for me," he said, looking away from her startled eyes.
"Why, what do you mean?" she asked, and then wished she had not spoken, for she was suddenly afraid of his answer.
"I may not be,—you can't always tell," he stammered, looking as if he wanted to take it all back. "Let's not talk about it now, please," he begged, and Blue Bonnet gladly let the subject drop.
She rode on in silence the rest of the way, depressed and miserable. Alec's words were a revelation; she had not dreamed he felt so ill and doubtful of living. She had thought he would grow strong and well at the ranch, and already he was worse and spoke of his case as hopeless.
They were greeted with a loud outcry from the girls, who were perched on the top bar of the corral gate awaiting them. They had been somewhat startled upon arising to find Blue Bonnet gone, but Firefly's absence from his stall had explained her disappearance.
"Hurry up,—we're starving!" they cried; and Alec and Blue Bonnet, responding gaily, dismounted and hastened to the house with the rest, both glad to escape questions in the general hilarity and press of hunger.
"Grandmother," said Blue Bonnet later in the day; "I'm worried about Alec." It was just after the siesta, and seeing her grandmother sitting alone in her chosen seat under the magnolia, she had gone out for a chat. They were seldom alone these days.
"He does look tired," Mrs. Clyde admitted; "but it is natural he should after that long ride."
"It isn't that." Blue Bonnet shook her head. "I'm afraid he's—got something."
"Got something?" her grandmother repeated in puzzled surprise.
"Hassomething, if you object to 'got.' Has something the matter with him, I mean,—serious, you know."
Then she repeated the conversation she had had with Alec that morning. Mrs. Clyde listened in silence, but her eyes were troubled when Blue Bonnet finished.
"It may not be so bad as Alec imagines," she said with a forced hopefulness. "He has been outgrowing his strength, and being overtired, too, makes him despondent."
In spite of her words, from that time on Mrs. Clyde was more observant of the boy, and the moment she saw the first signs of fatigue she would make some tactful suggestion for his benefit, relieving him of the necessity of saying he was tired, yet bringing about the possibility of rest. And often with her own hands she would concoct some nourishing dish, hardly so piquant as Gertrudis' red-hot creations, but rather more healthful for a growing boy. Neither she nor Blue Bonnet voiced their fears to the other girls nor to any of the men,but, with a silent understanding, ministered quietly to the frail boy's needs.
A few days later the girls crossed the meadow to the pool for their first lesson in swimming. It was an odd little bunch that sat on the bank dabbling their toes in the limpid water. The hastily improvised bathing-suits they wore were of every style and color, and they looked as gay as a flock of parrots in their bright-hued raiment. Blue Bonnet dove off the big boulder in the middle, to the great envy of the others, who only consented to get wet all over after much persuasion and the threat of a forcible ducking.
Sarah took the whole thing as seriously as she did most things. "Everybody should learn to swim," she announced authoritatively as she sat contemplating a plunge. "Some day we might have a chance to cross the ocean, and then we'd wish we knew how."
"Do you mean to swim across the ocean?" demanded Blue Bonnet wickedly.
"Of course not," replied Sarah, unruffled. "But in case of shipwreck, you know, it's well to be prepared. I believe it should be studied as a science,—get the stroke, then do it. It's like bicycle riding, they say: when you once learn how to keep your balance you never forget."
Blue Bonnet demonstrated the stroke again and again, while the other girls watched and imitatedas they sat or sprawled on the grassy bank. Sarah bent her whole mind to the acquiring of the proper arm action; lay face-down and kicked scientifically; then, convinced of her preparation for the feat, boldly entered the water.
"Good for you, Sallikins!" cried Blue Bonnet. "The others must be afraid of getting their feet wet." Then she sang tauntingly:
"Mother, may I go out to swim?Yes, my darling daughter,Hang your clothes on a hickory limb—But don't go near the water!"
Thus challenged, Kitty stepped shrinkingly into the cold water. "If Sarah will swim from me to you, I'll try it after her," she bargained. It was perhaps a distance of three yards from where she stood, waist-deep, to the big rock whereon Blue Bonnet was perched, laughing at them; but the Hellespont could hardly have loomed wider to the anxious eyes of Hero, than did this narrow channel now appear to the four novices.
"All right," agreed Sarah with dogged determination. She shut her eyes, screwed up her face, spread her arms, struck out with her feet and started. If a hippopotamus had suddenly slipped off the bank there could hardly have been a greater splash; Sarah kicked madly, puffing, panting, and churning the water into foam. All to no avail.Before she had gone a yard she sank like a paving-stone to the bottom of the pool. Blue Bonnet, convulsed with laughter, went down after her, but it took the combined efforts of herself and Kitty to bring the struggling Sarah to the surface. Sputtering and choking and much puzzled over the failure of her scientific method, Sarah retired to the bank to get her breath.
"Kitty's turn," she said inexorably as soon as she could speak.
Kitty found the bottom no less speedily, but scrambled up by herself and went at it again until she was able to progress almost two feet before going down to "call on the fishes," as Blue Bonnet said. It remained for Debby to cover herself with glory. Disdaining science and the instructions of the teacher, she took a lesson from Nature and struck out like a puppy. Straight to Blue Bonnet she swam, struggled up on the big boulder beside her, gasping and breathless, but delighted at her own success.
"Bravo!" cried the girls, quite overcome with admiration.
Emboldened by her triumph the others tried again and again, and while not wildly successful were so far encouraged that they lost their first great fear of the water. And that, as every swimmer knows, is the first step towards victory.
"After you've all learned," said Blue Bonnet alittle later, as they all sat on the veranda rail drying their hair, "we'll go over to the reservoir above Jonah some time and have a real swim. That is, if Grandmother's willing." She was glad she had remembered to add that last provision; it would have won an approving look from Aunt Lucinda.
"Then we'll have to have real suits," remarked Kitty, beginning then and there to plan a fetching costume for the occasion. "I'll write home for one right away."
When the plan was laid before Señora she made a brilliant suggestion. "Why not make your own suits? We may be able to find material in Jonah, and Benita and I will superintend."
Sarah beamed delightedly, but Blue Bonnet looked doubtful. "Will it be as hard as knitting a shawl?" she asked, ignoring the giggles her question provoked.
"Lots harder, you goose," said Kitty. "But if you begin it you'll probably have it finished for you by the same person who did the shawl."
"Then I don't mind!" Blue Bonnet agreed promptly. "We'll go to Jonah to-morrow—" adding before the words were fairly said, "—may we, Grandmother?"
"Perhaps," was all she said; but her eyes held more encouragement.
"Haveyou decided, Grandmother," asked Blue Bonnet, "whether or not we can go to Jonah this morning?"
"I think you may as well go," said Mrs. Clyde. "If they have no suitable material at Jonah, we shall have to send away for it, and the sooner we know the better. And, besides, we need several things for the house."
Blue Bonnet smiled gratefully. Grandmother was so sweetly reasonable—most of the time. To her surprise Sarah was the only one of the girls who greeted the proposal with any enthusiasm. The others looked listless and heavy-eyed.
"I feel tired all over," said Debby.
"I can't move my arms without groaning," complained Amanda.
"I'm as stiff as a poker," added Kitty mournfully.
Sarah looked wise. "It's the swimming," she declared.
"Trying to swim," Blue Bonnet corrected her. "I'm not tired or stiff."
"If trying to swim has made us feel this way,why doesn't Sarah make her little moan?" demanded Kitty.
Sarah looked still wiser. "I was so stiff before that I think swimming just limbered me up," she explained delightedly. Sarah could not help feeling a little very human satisfaction at the consciousness that she had borne her sufferings with far greater courage than the others now displayed.
"I couldn't ride a mile," groaned Kitty.
"Nor I!" declared both Debby and Amanda.
"Then, Señorita Blake, do we go by our lones?" asked Blue Bonnet.
"I'd love to," Sarah assented readily, beating down a nagging fear of Comanche's eyes.
"Then let's hurry and dress. We must start while it's cool."
"I think you will have to drive, dear," said her grandmother, looking up from the shopping list she was making. "Lisa says we must have laundry soap, and I don't see how you can bring a big box unless you take the buckboard."
Blue Bonnet's face fell. "Lisa's always wanting soap," she grumbled.
"I should love to drive," Sarah suggested wistfully.
Blue Bonnet hesitated; after all a hostess should consider a guest's preference, and Sarah was certainly a "good sort." "Very well," she assented, smothering a sigh.
"Have you all decided what color you want your bathing-suits?" asked the Señora.
"Let's have them all alike," suggested Sarah.
"Red!" exclaimed Blue Bonnet.
"No, thank you," returned Kitty. "Pray consider the feelings of my hair! I'm willing to have any color so long as—"
"—so long as it's green!" Blue Bonnet finished for her, recollecting former debates of this sort.
"Green is lovely for swimming, anyway," Kitty contended. "It's so mermaidy, you know."
"And so becoming to red—er—auburn hair," put in Blue Bonnet. "Having blue eyes myself, I'm not partial to green."
"Oh, if you're going to insist on harmony of colors I think we had better stick to black and blue—I'm one big bruise." Kitty illustrated her remark with a groan.
"Yes, I've seen blue trimmed with black and it was very pretty," said Sarah, quite missing Kitty's point.
"Here, Grandmother, please make a list. Now, everybody, decide. Red for me. Debby, what shall yours be?"
"Red with white braid, please," replied Debby after a moment's thought.
"Blue with white ditto," was Amanda's choice.
"Green," came from Kitty.
"Black and blue,"—this from the consistent Sarah.
"I think you will have to change the name of your club from the 'We are Sevens' to 'The Rainbow Quintet,'" said the Señora, laughing as she wrote down the variegated list.
After all it was a delightful drive to Jonah. The two fleet horses drew the light buckboard over the smooth road with a motion that Sarah found far preferable to the cat-like leaps of Comanche; and Blue Bonnet was so proud of being trusted to drive a team that she was quite reconciled to the arrangement.
"Denham would have fainted if I had even suggested driving Grandmother's carriage horses," she told Sarah, with a scornful sniff for those fat Woodford beasts.
"You drive beautifully," was Sarah's comforting rejoinder.
To their great satisfaction they found just what they wanted in Jonah. Alpaca was to be had in almost every shade, and wide white braid that made an excellent trimming. And to Blue Bonnet's delight she found a bright red sash that would add the finishing touch of elegance to her suit. Their shopping done and the buckboard well-heaped with their varied purchases, the two girls drove back as far as Kooch's ranch, where, according to an immemorial custom, they lunched and rested until the cool ofthe afternoon. On the return trip they met with an adventure.
The road ran for a short distance beside the little river with the big name—San Franciscito—which had so amused Alec. It was there that Sarah did something unprecedented. For several miles she had been envying Blue Bonnet her easy manner of handling the reins and the light touch that sent the mustangs right or left as she willed. It was a beautiful accomplishment.
"Blue Bonnet," she asked suddenly, "may I drive for a little while?"
Blue Bonnet looked up in speechless surprise; Sarah was certainly "coming on." "Surely you may," she said cordially, straightway handing over the reins. "Hold them firmly—these colts are apt to run under a loose rein."
Sarah felt a curious sense of power as she grasped the leather in her unpracticed hands. Conscientious to a degree, she did as she was bid and held the mustangs firmly. In her anxiety to do the thing properly, she overdid it, and the next moment the horses were tossing their heads angrily and backing with all their might. The bank of the stream just here was very high and steep, though just beyond was a ford where the road branched. The light buckboard offered no resistance to the spirited mustangs, and, in a second, before Blue Bonnet could grasp the reins, one hind wheel had slipped an inchor two over the ledge. For a second or two the girls were in grave danger. Blue Bonnet felt a swift overpowering fear; the half-broken colts were as apt to plunge backward as to advance if they felt the whip, and that meant a plunge down the steep bank. She looked about her helplessly. Sarah, with a faint shriek, shut her eyes and prepared for the catastrophe.
At that moment a horseman came suddenly up the bank at the ford, emerging as if from out the earth. At a glance he took in the situation, was off his horse, caught the near colt by the bit and brought both frightened animals to a standstill with the wheel a safe margin from the bank. Then without waiting to hear the faintly murmured thanks of the terrified girls, their rescuer turned at once to his own horse, which had seized the moment to make a break for freedom. The boy—for he was hardly more—had thrown the lines over the animal's head and now, with another of his incredibly swift movements, he caught them and in a second more had jerked the horse about. Then in a flash he was once more in the saddle. Blue Bonnet had just managed to catch her breath,—when it was taken away again. For before the boy had put his right foot in the stirrup, he was out of the saddle once more, lying all of a heap in the grass, while his horse with a wicked kick-up of his heels, vanished around a turn in the road.
Not daring to trust the reins out of her hands a second time, Blue Bonnet almost pushed Sarah from her seat. Fearfully the girl approached and bent over the fallen hero; to her relief she saw that his eyes were open. He blinked queerly for a moment, then gave a gaspy little laugh.
"I'm all right. Don't worry. It's knocked the breath out of me—that's all," he managed to say at last; and then, after another pause, he scrambled up to a sitting posture.
"I'm so sorry," said Sarah, finding her voice. "I hope you're not seriously hurt."
"I'm—quite whole!" he assured her, and stopped with a wince of pain. "It's my wrist, I reckon—broken or sprained." He examined the injured member closely and after a vain attempt to lift it said briefly: "Broken. Isn't that the limit?"
"Oh, dear," exclaimed Sarah, all sympathy. "What shall we do?" She approached Blue Bonnet with a very serious face. "We shall have to get a doctor to set his arm right away," she said in a low tone. "You know the bones go crooked if they're not set soon."
"If he can get up into the buckboard we can take him to the doctor, that'll be quicker," replied Blue Bonnet.
Sarah went back to the boy. He still sat, rather dazed and white, looking disgustedly at his injuredarm. "Say," she began hesitatingly; she wished she knew his name—"say" was so plebeian; "—are you too badly hurt to get into the buckboard?"
"No, indeed," he replied cheerfully. "Be—with you—in a minute. But sorry—to trouble you."
"It's no trouble," said Sarah. "We're terribly sorry about your arm."
"Nothing much,—only a bother," he maintained stoutly, setting his teeth as he said it and scrambling to his feet. Then he swayed and would have fallen if Sarah had not caught him. He clung to her for a moment, fighting the dizziness with all the pride of his seventeen years, then giving in sheepishly, let her lead him to the buckboard. Once there he leaned weakly against the wheel, while the two girls, anxious and frightened, yet too considerate of his feelings to show their concern, watched him in speechless sympathy. At last he straightened up and gave a short, embarrassed laugh.
"Reckon I've got a funny-bone in my head," he said impatiently. Then steadying himself with his right hand he climbed slowly into the back seat of the buckboard.
"We'd better go to Jonah at once, don't you think—for the doctor?" Blue Bonnet asked him.
"Is it far?" he asked. Blue Bonnet looked her surprise and he added: "I don't know these parts. I'm camping up at the Big Spring and was just riding down this way looking for a place they call Kooch's."
"Why, we've just come from there," exclaimed Blue Bonnet.
"Then it is near?" he asked. "I'd begun to think I must have taken the wrong road."
"Just a mile or two back," explained Blue Bonnet.
"Then if you will kindly take me there, I'll not trouble you any further," the youth said eagerly.
"But you must have your arm set right away," protested Sarah.
"Well, if the man I was looking for is at Kooch's, maybe he can set it," he replied, adding, "He's a 'medic' from Chicago—a friend of a cousin of mine. Left college on account of lung trouble, and I heard he was camping on Kooch's ground somewhere."
"Maybe it was his tent we saw back there a ways," said Sarah. "That's quite near."
Blue Bonnet turned the horses and driving very slowly, so as not to hurt the boy's injured arm, went back over the road they had just traversed. It was not long before they came in sight of the tent she and Sarah had noticed; a rather high fence preventedher approaching it very closely, and she stopped just opposite the camp.
"I reckon you'll have to go and see if the man's there, Sarah," said Blue Bonnet.
Sarah looked fearfully at the high fence. "I just know I can't get over."
Blue Bonnet gave her a withering glance. "You—Woodfordite!" was the worst epithet she dared trust herself to before a stranger. "Then you'll have to hold the horses. There's no river to spill into here—and you don't have to pull them over backwards."
"There's no need, really," the young fellow interrupted. "I can bring Abbott if he's here." He raised his right hand, put the tips of two fingers to his lips and blew. The shrillest, most penetrating whistle the girls had ever heard pierced the air, causing the colts to lunge forward in a way that might have precipitated another catastrophe, had not Blue Bonnet's little steel wrist brought them up sharply.
At the summons a tall lanky figure appeared from within the tent and stood peering under his hand at the occupants of the buckboard. The youth whistled again, this time only with his lips,—a bird-like call. "That's his frat whistle. Ought to bring him."
And bring him it did. The lanky figure deserted the tent and with an eager stride crossed the meadowand came up to the fence. After one scrutinizing glance at the girls his eye fell on the boy and he grinned broadly.
"Hullo, Knight!—is it really you? Glad to see you, old chap!"
"Hello, Doc. How am I going to get over this hospitable fence of yours?" returned the boy, with an abruptness born of an aching wrist. "My nag threw me and I've broken my left arm. Know anybody that can set it?" He winked impudently at the fledgling doctor.
The latter beamed with professional delight. "Just my line, dear boy. I wish it had been your leg, now,—I do those beautifully!"
"Or my neck—I don't doubt it. But this is quite enough, thank you," retorted the boy. He was white with pain and yet could joke!—it was the sort of pluck Blue Bonnet admired.
"If your cousin will drive down to the gate,—" the young man suggested.
The boy looked a trifle embarrassed. "This isn't my cousin," he replied. "These gir—er—young ladies picked me up after my spill and—"
"I'm Elizabeth Ashe," Blue Bonnet supplied, coloring slightly.
"Of the Blue Bonnet ranch?" asked the medico, and at her affirmative nod he added, "I've met Mr. Ashe."
"This is Doctor Abbott," said the boy, strivingto make the introduction easily, though one could see that such social amenities were not a matter of habit with him.
"I can't claim that title yet," the "doctor" protested. "My friends bestowed it when I was a freshman. I hope to earn it yet. Now, Knight,—about that arm. If Miss Ashe will drive on—there's a gate a hundred yards down the road. It isn't big enough to drive through, but I'll meet you there. I've some bandages in my tent. Be with you in a minute."
He appeared at the little gate bearing a most professional looking leather case and various packages that emitted queer odors. His enjoyment of the operation in store was plain.
"Hadn't I better go over to the tent with you?" asked the patient. To have an arm set with two strange girls looking on was evidently not to his taste.
"Too far for you to walk if you feel as shaky as you look," said Doctor Abbott, his keen eyes taking in young Knight's pale face and twitching lips. "And I may need assistance." He sprang lightly into the seat beside the patient and made a rapid examination. The girls resolutely kept their eyes away, but they could hear the boy's quick breathing. He made no other sound.
"A sprain, my boy," was the verdict which the girls heard with vast relief.
"Only a sprain?" asked Knight in an injured tone. "Then what makes it hurt so like the mischief?"
"A sprain hurts worse than a fracture, sometimes, but it is less serious and will heal quicker," said the doctor. "I've just the right thing here and will fix you up in no time."
The next five minutes were bad ones for the sufferer; Sarah and Blue Bonnet knew it, though they still stared off over the meadow and tried to chat unconcernedly, while the hurried breathing of the boy continued.
"There you are!" The girls turned to see the young man viewing his work and the neat bandage with approval, while Knight, with his lips still trembling, looked up at him with forced cheerfulness. "You'll have to keep it still for a few days,—wish we had some sort of a sling." Abbott knit his brow.
Knight touched the bandanna about his neck. "How about this?"
Abbott tried it but found it too short. Blue Bonnet had one of her sudden inspirations. Diving down underneath the seat she fished up one of the many packages. Under the interested eyes of the others she opened it and then held up something bright and silky.
"Your red sash!" gasped Sarah.
"Will it do?" Blue Bonnet asked the doctor anxiously.
"Just the thing!" he exclaimed; and in a minute had slung his patient's arm in the scarlet folds of the sash.
"I say," Knight protested, "I hate like everything to take this from you, Miss Ashe."
Blue Bonnet gave him a bright smile. "I'm very glad to have it prove so useful. Sarah called me frivolous when I bought it."
The boy looked uncomfortable but was forced to submit, vowing inwardly that he would buy her the "fanciest article in the sash line" that Chicago could boast, to make up for the loss of her finery.
"Now, my friend," said the young surgeon, as he gathered up his instrument case in a professional manner, "I must see that wrist in the morning. Where are you staying?"
The youth colored; it was evident that he had expected an invitation to stay with his friend. Blue Bonnet spoke up at once: "You must come with us to the ranch. Uncle would never forgive me if I let you stay anywhere else."
"Sorry I can't ask you to stay with me," Abbott said, observing the boy's confusion. "But I've only a cot built for one, you know. You'll be a heap more comfortable at the Blue Bonnet ranch than in my quarters. I'll ride over in the morning and take a look at you."
With the matter thus taken out of his hands, Knight had to submit. "It's mighty good of you," he said to Blue Bonnet.
"Not at all," she returned heartily. "I'd have to do a great deal to get even!"
"That wasn't anything," he protested. Then, turning to the doctor, he remarked with a return of his usual humor: "So long, Doc—hope you haven't injured me for life. Bring over your bill in the morning!"