Dorothy Dale in the West Page 5

  That was what Dorothy had waited for. She wanted to see what manner of face it was before she spoke— if she spoke at all.

  It was a bronzed, beardless, rather reckless countenance; but there was nothing bad in its expression, and if the features were not strikingly handsome they were pleasant. The mouth and eyes laughed too easily, perhaps; but Dorothy risked it. She walked right up to the pony’s surprised head.

  “Please!” she said.

  The match went out. So did the spark of the cigarette, as it dropped from the man’s fingers.

  “Jerusha Juniper!” gasped the man. “I got ’em!”

  “Will you please listen?” asked Dorothy.

  “A gal—and a gal from back East—shore! Why, yes, Ma’am! I’ll listen tuh yuh,” said the amazed cowboy.

  Just then Tavia joined her chum and the man muttered: “There’s two on ’em—Jerusha Juniper!”

  “Please help us, sir,” pleaded Dorothy again.

  “I shore will, Miss,” declared the cowboy. “But yuh did tee-totally sup-prise me—yes, Ma’am!”

  Tavia began to giggle. “I guess you’re not used to meeting ladies around here?” she questioned, saucily.

  “Jerusha Juniper! I reckon we ain’t; not around here.”

  “I didn’t know, for sure,” said the wicked Tavia; “hearing you take a lady’s name in vain so frequently, you know. Is she a friend of yours?”

  “Who, Ma’am?” asked the puzzled cowboy, while Dorothy tugged at Tavia’s sleeve.

  “‘Miss Jerusha Juniper’—or is she a ‘Mrs.’?”

  The man laughed heartily at that and urged his pony nearer to the two girls.

  “We see so few females out here we hafter talk about ’em, and name critters after ’em, and all that.”

  “I see,” said Tavia, quite assured of herself now.

  “Oh, dear!” interrupted Dorothy, anxiously. “All this isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  “Jeru—— Well!” said the man. “Where do yuh want tuh go?”

  “Why, we’ve been left behind,” said Dorothy, and then she fully explained their predicament.

  The cowboy, who was a young fellow, grasped the situation at once.

  “You won’t git even a slow train out o’ yere before noon to-morrer,” he said. “And ’twixt now and then you’d be mighty uncomfortable, I reckon. There ain’t nawthin’ yere but a boardin’ shack, an’ there ain’t a woman ever stops thar only Miz’ Little, whose old man runs the shack and keeps the corral yere.”

  “Goodness!” gasped Dorothy.

  “Gracious!” gasped Tavia.

  “Oh, they’re nice folks, but they ain’t fixed right to entertain ladies,” said the man.

  “And we don’t want to be entertained,” wailed Dorothy. “We want to get on.”

  “Shore you do,” granted the cowboy. “No other good train on this road, as I say. If you follered by slow trains you’d never catch that flyer—not in a dawg’s age.”

  “What can we do, then?” demanded Dorothy. “Can’t we even telegraph?”

  “Now, I’ll fix that for yuh, first of all,” declared the man. “The operator lives at Little’s shack. We’ll rout him out and make him tell your folks on that train that you’ll overtake ’em at Sessions.”

  “But how can we?” asked Dorothy.

  “Sessions is a junction of this line and the old D. & C. Yuh see, I know this country pretty well. I’m over yere for the Double Chain Outfit right now, shipping cows, and I was startin’ back to-morrer, anyway. I’ll git you ladies ponies, and we’ll start for Killock to-night.”

  “Where’s Killock?” asked Dorothy, doubtfully.

  The cowboy pointed vaguely across the prairie. “Right over thar—that-a-way,” he said. “It’s on the D. & C. There’s a fast train stops thar at five in the morning. If we make a pretty quick get-away we’ll easy make it in time, and you’ll ketch your folks at Sessions.”

  “Oh, that will be jolly!” cried Tavia.

  “But, Tavia!” gasped Dorothy. “How can we ride—in these frocks?”

  “Side saddle?” queried her chum, doubtfully. “Why not?”

  “We’d never be able to hang on,” groaned Dorothy, “without a proper riding habit!”

  Here the cowboy interrupted. “There isn’t a lady’s saddle in this neck o’ woods. But I can find easy mounts and easy saddles for you. An’ Miz’ Little will let you have skirts. You can send them back with the ponies from Killock.”

  “You think of everything!” exclaimed Tavia, gratefully.

  Dorothy Dale was doubtful. She had trusted the man’s face and his manner, still——

  “Come on, now, to Miz’ Little,” said the cowboy, frankly. “I’ll rout ’em out and we’ll be on the jog in half an hour, ladies.”

  The man’s free and familiar way troubled Dorothy more than anything else. Yet, she knew that this was the West and that western ways were not eastern ways. And there was a woman they could talk to, at least!

  So she and Tavia, hand in hand, followed behind the cowboy. He had dismounted, but the track would not allow of their walking abreast. And he made as slow progress in his high-heeled riding boots as the girls did, over the rough way.

  Their eyes were more accustomed to the path now, or else it was not so dark. However, they could not have mistaken the bulk of the cowboy and that of the pony, before them.

  It certainly was a strange experience. Two eastern girls thrown suddenly into a situation of this character! An unknown protector, an unknown locality, and unknown adventures before them.

  “What an experience!” breathed the delighted Tavia. “And he’s a regular knight.”

  “Is he?”

  “A knight of the lariat,” whispered Tavia. “It’s so romantic.”

  “I am glad you like it,” said Dorothy, grimly.

  “Why! don’t you, Dorothy Dale?”

  “I would give a good deal to be back aboard that train with Aunt Winnie.”

  “Never!” cried Tavia.

  “All right there, ladies?” threw back the “knight” over his shoulder. “There’s the light ahead.”

  “Oh! we are perfectly all right,” said Tavia, with assurance.

  Dorothy was not at all sure, so she said nothing.

  In a few minutes they came to a long, low building. There was a dim light shining through a window in the end of the shack.

  The cowboy dropped his pony’s bridle-rein upon the ground and the well-trained animal stood still. The “knight” knocked on the door and at once a fierce voice asked:

  “Who’s thar?”

  “Lance,” said the man.

  “Well. I told you Number Eight was empty, Lance.”

  “I ain’t goin’ to stay, Miz’ Little.”

  “Aw-right,” pursued the same gruff voice, which the girls could scarcely believe was a woman’s. “I’ll let the nex’ pilgrim thet comes erlong have it.”

  “I gotter see yuh,” said the cowboy. “Git up, will yuh?”

  “What yuh want, Lance?”

  “Come yere. Land’s sake! S’pose I’m talkin’ for pleasure?”

  A couch squeaked. There was immediately a heavy footstep on the creaking plank floor. The girls were rather startled. They wondered if the savage sounding female was coming to the door just as she got out of bed?

  But “Miz’ Little” had evidently been lying down dressed. When the door opened she was revealed in a shapeless dark gown. Only, her head and feet were bare.

  She was a gigantic creature—a good deal bigger than the cowboy who had befriended the girls. Dorothy saw at once that she had a very kindly face, despite her masculine appearance.

  “I vow!” she said, starting. “Ladies with you, Lance?”

  “Yep. And they want to git on to Killock to-night. They’ll tell you all about it. I’m goin’ to rout out that thar key-pusher.”

  “He’s in Number Six,” said Mrs. Little. Then to the girls: “Come in. Gals are yere erbout as often as ange
ls—an’ I ain’t never hearn their wings yit.”

  Dorothy and Tavia entered—yet not without some hesitancy. The room was large, and almost bare of furnishings. There was a broad bed, and on it Mrs. Little had been lying. But there was no other occupant of it, or of the room.

  There was a small cookstove, a chest of drawers, a clock on the shelf, and a picture of Washington crossing the Delaware on the wall. One rocker had a tidy on the back of it, but the other plain deal chairs were entirely undecorated.

  The woman herself, however, drew Dorothy Dale’s attention. She was very curious as to what manner of creature she could be—this masculine and gruff spoken female.

  In the lamplight Dorothy had a better view of Mrs. Little’s face. Mrs. Little did not have a single pretty or attractive feature, but the girl from the East would have trusted her with anything she possessed!

  Mrs. Little looked closely into the faces of both girls. She saw something shining in Dorothy’s eyes.

  “Why, chile!” she gasped. “You ain’t re’lly afraid, be yuh?”

  Dorothy seized the big, hard hand the woman put out to her. There was help in that hand—and comfort. Tavia appeared not to care, but Dorothy Dale knew that her chum was just as much disturbed in secret over the situation as she was herself.

  In rather a breathless way Dorothy told Mrs. Little of the circumstances leading up to their predicament, and her new friend listened sympathetically. “Don’t that beat all?” was her comment. “And I expect your folks is scaret, too. But you do like Lance says——”

  “Is Lance to be trusted, Mrs. Little?” asked Dorothy, eagerly.

  “Lance? Shore! Ef you was both my darters I’d trust yuh with Lance. Men is tuh be trusted with gals out yere. They hafter be. Wimmen is scurce—homes air far apart—a lone woman has a claim on a man in the wild places that she don’t have in cities. Shore!

  “That’s what it is, Miss. It takes an out an’ out vilyun to be mean to a woman or a gal w’en there ain’t a mite of protection for her otherwise. Shore! Most western men, I ’low, air to be trusted.”

  But Dorothy and Tavia thought of Philo Marsh, and took this broad statement with a grain of salt. Or was it, that Mr. Marsh, even, would have been chivalrous under the present conditions?

  Dorothy was satisfied that the cowboy called Lance was a man to be depended upon. She had really believed in him from the start; now she believed even more in Mrs. Little, who stood sponsor for him.

  Almost at once Lance reappeared with a sleepy man whom he had evidently gotten out of bed.

  “Write your message, Ma’am,” said the cowboy, “and this man will send it. Make it re’l strong. We’ll ketch ’em at Sessions by noon to-morrer. They kin stop over an’ wait a while for yuh.

  “Their tickets will be good on the D. & C. I’ve often done it myself. And yuh’ll all be in Dugonne to-morrer night, anyway, so it won’t matter erbout your berth coupons.”

  It was evident that Lance had traveled some and knew his way about. Now he hurried away for the horses while Dorothy wrote the message to be sent after the flying train. It was not yet an hour since Dorothy and Tavia had left the observation car.

  Fortunately Dorothy had her handbag with her, and the purse in it was well supplied with money. She asked the operator to count the words of the message, and paid him for it on the spot.

  Meanwhile Mrs. Little had made coffee and she insisted upon the girls having some and sampling her cake. When Lance came with the mounts he was likewise regaled, standing in the doorway.

  A chill wind was blowing off the prairie, but not a cloud was to be seen. The sky was thickly speckled with stars.

  “You’re going to have a right pleasant ride,” prophesied Mrs. Little, producing two of her own voluminous skirts for the girls.

  She helped them tuck up their own frocks neatly and arranged the skirts about them after they were mounted.

  “Everybody rides a-straddle out yere,” said the good lady, laughing. “An’ yuh kin cling on better. Yuh got some ridin’ tuh do b’fore yuh reach Killock. It’s fifty mile.

  “Now, Lance, don’t yuh be reckless. Ef anythin’ happens tuh these gals I’ll be in yuh wool, an’ no mistake!”

  “Huh! nawthin’s goin’ tuh happen to them,” laughed Lance. “How erbout me? I eat two slabs of that cake o’ yourn, Miz’ Little, an’ I expect Gaby will bog right down with me inside of a mile, I’ll be so heavy.”

  “Git erlong with yuh!” retorted Mrs. Little, used to the cowboys’ rough jokes. “It’s better cake than that Chinaman makes you at the Double Chain Outfit, I vow!”

  After that they rode off into the night, with the “knight of the lariat.”

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE NIGHT ADVENTURE CONTINUED

  The little cavalcade had to cross the tracks and the crossing was beside the telegraph office.

  “I wonder if he has caught Aunt Winnie’s train yet?” said Dorothy, aloud.

  “We’ll see about that, Miss,” said Lance, the cowboy, and he pulled in and shouted for the operator:

  “Hey, Bill!”

  The window opened and the frowsy head of the telegraph man appeared.

  “Ketch Number Seventy yet?” asked the cowboy.

  “Just. At Massapeke. Your folks has got your message by this time, ladies.”

  “Oh, thank you!” cried Dorothy.

  “A thousand times,” added Tavia.

  “Come on,” said Lance. “Goo’night, Bill!”

  “Goo’night!” responded the operator, and slammed down the window.

  They rattled over the crossing and then the ponies set into an easy trot, led by the cowboy’s Gaby.

  Dorothy Dale and Tavia Travers had both learned to ride when they were much younger. Indeed, Tavia had learned to ride bareback upon the horses left out to pasture around Dalton, in the days when she was a regular tomboy.

  The action of these cow ponies was easy, and the girls enjoyed the strange ride during the first few miles, at least. They had ridden with divided skirts at home; therefore their present position in the saddle was not as strange to them as it might have been.

  But there were fifty miles to travel when they left Mrs. Little’s. “It looks like an awfully big contract,” admitted Tavia.

  “Yuh ain’t got tuh look at it all tuh once, Miss,” said Lance, good-naturedly. “Yuh take it mile by mile, an’ it ain’t so far.”

  “That’s so,” declared Tavia. “I never thought of that.” Then to Dorothy she whispered. “Isn’t he just splendid? And how sweetly he drawls his words?”

  “Now, Tavia!” gasped Dorothy. “If you don’t behave yourself——”

  “Why, I am!” cried Tavia. “I think you are too particular for anything, Doro. Didn’t that large Little lady tell us he was perfectly all right?”

  Dorothy was being jounced around too much just then to make reply. But she saw that Tavia had recovered completely from her “scare” and was looking for mischief.

  Out on the open prairie the stars gave light enough for the girls to see Lance better. The track was broader, too, and the trio continued on, side by side, the cowboy riding between the two girls.

  Lance was not a bad looking young man at all. Dorothy began to realize, too, that he was nowhere near as old as she had at first supposed. His out of door life had given him that air of maturity.

  So, it troubled Dorothy when she saw that Tavia was determined to “buzz” the cowboy.

  “Are you a really, truly cowboy?” the irrepressible asked, demurely.

  “Well, yuh might call me that, Ma’am, though I wasn’t borned to it like some of these old-timers yuh’ll meet out yere.”

  “Then you are not a native of the West?”

  “Now you’ve said something, Ma’am. I come from back East; but t’was quite some time ago—believe me!”

  “You must have been very young when you came out here—to seek your fortune, I suppose?” pursued Tavia.

  “Tuh git cl’ar of my old ma
n’s strap,” chuckled Lance. “He and I didn’t hitch wuth a cent. But he was a good old feller at that.”

  “And you never went back?” asked Dorothy, becoming interested herself.

  “Never got the time for it. Yuh see, Miss, it does seem as though a man never gets caught up with his work. That’s so!”

  “I should think you’d be homesick—want to see your folks,” the insistent Tavia said.

  “Jerusha Juniper! My fam’bly was right glad to git shet of me, I reckon; all but my mother. But I reckon she’s too old to travel out yere, an’, as I say, it’s hard for a man like me to git time and money both together for a vacation. I ’low I’d like to see the ol’ lady right well,” he concluded.

  Scarcely had he spoken when a rattle of ponies’ hoofs behind them startled their own spirited mounts. The ponies tried to “break” and run, too, as they heard the rat-tat-tat of the hoofs approaching.

  “Whoa, thar, Gaby!” commanded Lance. “Ain’t yuh got a bit o’ sense?” Then to Dorothy and Tavia he shouted: “Pull hard on them bits, ladies. They got mouths like sheet-iron—an’ that ain’t no dream!”

  The girls pulled their ponies in, as instructed. As they did so two other ponies appeared beside them in the trail. The girls from the East could identify the riders as a man and a girl.

  “Jerusha Juniper!” yelled Lance, stopping Gaby from bolting with some difficulty and swinging her across the path of the eastern girls’ mounts, so as to halt them. “Jerusha Juniper! what yuh tryin’ tuh do? Comin’ cavortin’ along the trail this a-way?”

  “Is that you, Lance?” asked the man.

  “It shore is—an’ two ladies,” said the cow-puncher, proudly.

  “Don’t tell ’em we come this way, Lance,” called a shriller voice, which Dorothy knew must belong to the girl, as the couple passed and urged their ponies to a gallop.

  “Jerusha Juniper! is it you, Colt—and you, Molly Crater? I’ll be blessed! Tell on yuh? Reckon not—ef Colt’s fin’lly got up his spunk tuh take yuh right from under the ol’ man’s nose, Molly.”

  “Oh! what is it?” cried Tavia.

  Lance began to laugh—and he laughed loudly, sagging from side to side in his saddle.