Helena Montaigne, too, was trying to clasp her in equally tender arms, and Molly reluctantly released Dorothy, while she let Mr. Ford lead her to his wife, introducing her as:
“The daughter of my old friend, Judge Breckenridge. He and I were classmates once, and come here, Leslie boy! I’ve heard this little lady spoken of as ‘Jolly Molly,’ and you must make it your business that not one day of her coming summer with us shall be anything save ‘jolly.’ Ah! Erminie, young people on a ranch!”
Evidently, Leslie was as much in the dark as Dorothy and Alfy had been, this visitation of so many young strangers a complete surprise to him; but he was trained to good manners and at once captivated Molly’s admiration by his cordial greeting. So that, a moment later, she whispered to Dorothy:
“Isn’t he a dear! I declare he’s just a heavenly handsome boy, with his blue eyes and – and his air! He really is too sweet for words, that boy!”
Whereat Dolly laughed and answered:
“Oh! you funny Molly! You don’t change a bit! Still ‘doting on boys’ as much as ever! How’s Melvin?”
“Melvin’s a poke. The invitation included him, too, but he sets himself up stiff as stiff and said he had no time to waste visiting. He’d got to learn the business soon as he could, for his mother – Oh! a lot of bosh about his mother, and her trusting him. Even my father – ”
“Never mind him, then, but tell me how in the world you happened to come just here and now?”
The two had retreated to the window and stood with arms about each other and Dorothy’s eyes now free from tears. Indeed, so surprising was this whole affair that she had, for a moment, forgotten Aunt Betty’s departure.
“Why, it’s this way. Mr. Ford is an old friend of Papa’s and when he found out that you knew us, too, he just planned the whole thing for a grand treat to you! He wrote Papa that he was under ‘lifelong obligation to you’ because – well, of something or other. I wasn’t told what, but it doesn’t matter. The thing that does matter is that we’re to be together all summer long, at least for three whole months. Think of that, girlie, just think of that! He wrote Papa, too, that he’d have liked to gather the whole ‘House Party’ together if it had been practical, but his wife didn’t think it would. I reckon she knew she’d have her hands full enough, chaperoning eight youngsters, without asking more. We came pretty near not getting Helena and Herbert, though! Mr. Montaigne fancied it was too much like an imposition to let them come, because he didn’t know the Fords. Helena wrote me that, so I got Dad to send him a letter to make him stop and think! Besides, Jim – that boy is just grand! He – ”
“Of course, honey. He’s a boy, you know.”
“Laugh away! I’m too happy to care. I do like boys best. Why shouldn’t I? They’re heaps more fun than girls – except you. And to think! Helena and Jim were the real chaperons of our trip, though Helena’s governess, Miss Milliken, was called such. But she’s a stick! I had the time of my life, keeping her scared all the way on. Oh! I’m glad to be off that train. Mr. Ford says we’re to finish our journey in wagons. I like that.”
“But I don’t see Miss Milliken, Molly.”
“No. She knows some people here in Denver and they met her at the station and carried her off to dine with them. I wish she’d get belated and left behind. She was a regular kill-joy all the way out.”
“Poor, meek, timid woman! She used to have so little snap that Herbert nicknamed her ‘The Worm.’ It was horrid – ”
“Well, she’s ‘turned,’ then. Of course, we were pretty full of fun and scared her with some of our pranks. But – Ah! there she is now! You can’t lose that woman! Mrs. Montaigne told her that ‘the lives of her precious children were entrusted to her hands,’ and the governess feels her responsibility to the full, I tell you. Even Helena – ”
“Dinner for the newcomers!” called Mr. Ford, interrupting, as a fresh meal was placed upon the table and they were invited to their seats. The zeal with which they accepted and the fine appetites they displayed sent a satisfied smile to their host’s lips, and he nodded merrily to his wife:
“No invalids among them! Glad of that! But youngsters, eat first, chatter afterwards! The wagons will be at the door very soon and I want to get in a good thirty miles before bedtime!”
They tried to check their eager talk but they were all too excited for quiet, and presently rose from the table, ready for the ride, while Mr. Ford said:
“Now, Erminie, wife, you do the pairing off of the youngsters, and arrange how we shall divide. First, count noses! Eight youngsters, three oldsters, two ‘boys’ – thirteen passengers in all! Miss Milliken, did you ever ‘cross the plains’ before?”
The prim little lady, who had been standing beside Mrs. Ford, appeared not to hear the gentleman’s question, but turned with an air of anxiety to ask in turn:
“Madam, did I hear there were ‘thirteen,’ THIRTEEN?”
“Yes, Miss Milliken. Why?”
“Then I think you’ll have to excuse me. I might follow you later if there were some way but I positively decline to make the thirteenth of any party.”
There certainly was nothing wormlike, or undecided, about the governess, whose lips had closed in such a thin line of obstinacy as changed her whole appearance, while her would-be hostess inquired with amusement:
“Are you superstitious, Miss Milliken? Surely, with your culture and – ”
Helena advanced with an air of authority:
“Milliken, this is absurd! Please get back your common sense. Remember we are guests and have no right to object to anything.”
The chaperon bridled, but kept silence, till Mr. Ford explained:
“Thirteen doesn’t mean the whole party. There’ll be three drivers, besides. Possibly more men picked up along the road. Moreover, thirteen is my ‘lucky number,’ if ‘luck’ is anything. Well, Mrs. Ford, have you arranged the company?”
“No, I cannot. I know them so slightly, as yet, and the best way is to draw lots. How many will the first buckboard carry?”
“Eight, all told. A dozen, if need be. Well, time’s precious! Here’s a lot of matches. The whole ones go in number one, the next lengths in wagon two, and the little ones in the last. See, I’ve snapped them off, and Miss Milliken, as head of the expedition, please draw first!”
The lady flushed and drew. Her lot was in the last and smallest buckboard which would carry but two more beside the driver; and it fell out that her companions would be Alfaretta and Monty Stark. The driver was known as Silent Pete, and it certainly was an odd combination which had resulted from the first “drawing.”
To the leading wagon the “lots” assigned the three Fords and Jedediah, their colored “boy,” with Molly, Helena and Herbert – their driver, Lem Hunt, the most talkative man at San Leon but, also, the crack whip of the ranch.
The driver of the second team was “Tenderfoot Sorrel,” so called because of his red hair and his comparatively recent arrival from the east. He was less familiar with the country than the other two teamsters and had been assigned to the place in the middle of the little cavalcade, so that “he can’t lose hisself afore or ahind, ary way,” as Lemuel explained it.
Naturally, everybody was disappointed at the result of the lots, Mrs. Ford protesting that it was inhospitable to put all her family in one vehicle, and that the best, but that “a Ford should have been in each.”
“Let’s change, then,” begged Monty, “and let one of the girls settle it as she knows we’d like it.”
But Alfy gave him such a frown that he ducked his head, avoiding an imaginary blow, while Miss Milliken as vigorously declared:
“You mustn’t do that. Oh! don’t do that! ’Twould be the very worst luck of all. Something would surely happen!”
“Well, if there doesn’t I shall be disappointed! We’re all eager for adventures, and that’s why I took this long, roundabout way to the ranch. We could have gone there in next to no time, by rail, but that’s too humdrum a thing. Anyhow, I bow to Miss Milliken’s prejudices for the time being. We shall be in sight of each other all the time, I expect, and meet at Roderick’s for our suppers and beds! All off for San Leon that’s going!” cried Mr. Ford, in imitation of a steamboat steward, and taking his wife’s arm led her and her guests out of the hotel.
The trunks and heavier luggage had already gone ahead in other wagons and only suit-cases and hand-bags were on hand. These were hastily bestowed in the boxes of the two less crowded buckboards, and no attention paid to their ownership, since it was expected that all would meet at “Roderick’s,” where every traveller could find his own.
With a blast on his coach horn, a crack of his long whip over his four-in-hand, proud Lemuel led the way along the city street, out of the town, and into the open country beyond.
All the horses attached to the blackboards were the picked ones of the San Leon stables, with a record known as well in the far east as in that wide western land. As one spectator of this gallant start remarked:
“It goes without saying that Dan Ford will drive no second-rate horseflesh, any more ’n he will a second-class railroad. My! See ’em travel! At that gait they’ll pick up the stretch ’twixt here and ‘Roderick’s’ long before nightfall, or I’m no judge.”
“Likely enough, likely enough. Only I don’t like the looks of that second span – I mean the one to the middle buckboard. Them blacks. The boys up to S’ Leon hadn’t no right to trust a tenderfoot to drive them critters!” remarked another observer, as the fretful animals passed out of sight, following their leaders.
Even Lem Hunt looked back once or twice, as they left the city limits, and waved a warning hand toward “T. Sorrel,” who merely tossed his red head and continued to draw upon the reins he should have loosened. Also, Silent Pete opened his lips for once and hallooed to the man ahead:
“Let ’em out, you fool! Give ’em their heads, I say!”
Then he relapsed into his normal condition, attending strictly to his own business and making himself deaf to the timid shrieks of Miss Milliken, from the rear seat. He was known to “hate silly women” and felt his fate a hard one in having to escort such a one as the governess. She, accustomed only to the sedate pace of the fat Montaigne steeds, felt that the spirited animals before that wagon were simply on the road to destruction and nowhere short of it! She clung to her seat-arm with one hand and clutched Pete’s coat collar with the other, frantically beseeching him:
“Do stop! Oh! you – man – just stop – and let me get my breath! I – I bump so – I – I can’t even think!”
But this western jehu merely flicked her fingers off as he would a troublesome fly, while Monty coolly advised:
“Don’t try, Miss Milliken. Fast? Why, they call this mere walkin’ out here. I’m going to take a nap.”
He settled himself sidewise on his seat, folded his arms upon its back, dropped his face upon them and tried to sleep. He was cross. He had wanted to ride in the foremost vehicle with the fine four-in-hand. He hated being put at the tail end of the procession with stupid Alfaretta Babcock, a speechless man, and a nervous, half-hysterical woman for companions. But the chuckle that escaped him a moment later proved that his slumber was only a pretended one. At a particularly rough spot in the road and a particularly shrill scream from Miss Milliken, the angry ranchman faced about and rudely ordered: “Shut up!” Then his lips closed with a click and nothing further escaped them during all that drive.
Alfaretta giggled; then strained her eyes again to pierce the distance which she had been studying for some time. Then she laid a hand on Monty’s head and shook it vigorously:
“Wake up, boy! Look ahead and see if either wagon is in sight! ’Tisn’t so awful dark yet but I wish – I wish I could get a glimpse of Dolly and Jim. That fool driver might have taken the wrong road where it branched off a ways back.”
Silent Pete heard and guessed this was the truth, but he ventured no reply. His business was to drive his own horses and let the tenderfoot look out for himself. But Monty roused himself enough to assure Alfy:
“He wouldn’t do that! Why, that road is nothing but a trail through the woods. Dark as midnight. Don’t worry.” Then he settled himself to sleep again.
Now the fact was that “T. Sorrel,” as his fellow ranchmen called him, had more conceit than common sense. He had heard that the branch road was a short cut to “Roderick’s,” but not that it was impassable for a team. A man on horseback might pass safely over it, by daylight and with a trustworthy mount. Not otherwise; and though the opening was fairly clear the trail entered a hopeless tangle of underbrush and fallen timber but a short way further on. To go forward then became impossible, and equally so the turning back. The lively blacks resented the scratching of briers and broken branches upon their tender limbs and pranced and fretted wildly. A molly cottontail scurried across the track before them and with a mutual, frenzied impulse they shied and sprang into the air.
The buckboard flew upward, turned turtle, scattered its load in all directions, then settled into a broken heap, while the light traces yielded to the strength of the horses, and they rushed madly forward out of sight.
At that very moment it had been, that Silent Pete and his wagon had passed the entrance of that trail; and even in that dusk his trained eye had noted fresh wheel and hoof prints. But it was not his business to stop and investigate. He had been set to bring his party to “Roderick’s”, not to take care of a tenderfoot who ought to have a nurse, the fool!
CHAPTER III
THE MIDNIGHT SEARCHING PARTY
The night was growing late and there were anxious hearts at “Roderick’s.” The four-in-hand had arrived hours before, and Silent Pete had also brought his party safely in – to the mutual relief of himself and Miss Milliken, the latter really surprised to find she had arrived sound in body and limb. She had promptly retired to the little chamber assigned herself and Helena, only to reappear in fresh distress.
“My suit-case with my night-things! I can’t find it anywhere. The one they gave me has a lot of boys’ things in it-all jumbled together. I’d like my suit-case, please. I’m worn out with that awful ride and if I’ve got to repeat it to-morrow, I must get to rest;” but as the buxom maid to whom she appealed paid her scant attention, she turned to Helena with her wail: “Oh, Miss Helena! Won’t you make them give me the right case?”
The emphasis put on the “won’t” suggested a desperate need, but merely annoyed her young mistress, who requested:
“Don’t make a nuisance of yourself, Milly. The loss of a suit-case is nothing compared to – Oh! if Dolly were only safely here!”
“She will be, of course. Haven’t I, with my nerves, lived through that ride? But, you don’t understand, dear, I want my things. I can’t wear a boy’s pajamas – all mussed up, at that. I want, I want to go to bed.”
“Then, for goodness’ sake – go!” cried Monty Stark, who had come up to the pair. “That’ll give us a rest, too.”
“I shall have to sit up all night, then,” still moaned the lady, “for your case isn’t to be found either, Miss Helena.”
Then finding no greater sympathy from her mistress than from that saucy boy, the governess betook herself out of the way. She was the only one of the party which had so gaily left Denver that now cared for anything except the appearance down the road of the missing buckboard.
Molly and Leslie, congenial spirits, had tried to laugh off their anxiety and to convince the others that everything was “all right, of course.”
“Likely Dolly Doodles has discovered some new sort of flowers somewhere and has wandered off to get them. She’s always doing that kind of thing,” Molly assured her hostess, who had gently answered:
“We’ll hope it’s only that. But she’d scarcely look for wild flowers at night, nor do anything to make us anxious by her delay. Our Dorothy is a very considerate girl and I wish – they would come.”
Linking her arm within Helena’s, the lady set her steps to suit the girl’s and resumed the pacing up and down the long piazza. The house was a one-storied building, stretching along the roadway to a size that was unusual for such a locality. It had been added to at different periods, as need arose; each addition being either a little lower or higher than its neighbor, according to the cash in hand, but invariably with the continuance of the comfortable piazza. This now afforded a long promenade, and all the people gathered at the wayside inn that night, were using it to walk off their impatience at the delay of “Tenderfoot Sorrel” to bring in his team.
Supper had been put back till it was spoiled, and having been telegraphed for beforehand, good Mrs. Roderick had wasted her best efforts upon it. But, at last, seeing Monty and Molly peering through the kitchen windows in a hungry sort of way, Mr. Ford ordered it served and all repaired to the dining room, feeling that the meal would be a farce, yet something with which to kill time.
However, the long ride in the keen air had given all a fine appetite and despite the landlady’s laments over the “dried-up stuff,” the table was nearly cleared of its food when they left it. Moreover, everyone felt better and brighter for the refreshment and so hopeful now for the speedy arrival of the laggards, that Mr. Ford suggested to the waitress:
“Just have a few things kept warm for the others. There’ll be four of them. If they aren’t here within a half-hour, now, I’ll go back in search of them. Something may have happened to the wagon and they left to come on a-foot.”
“Dear, did you ask the man you call Silent Pete if he passed them anywhere along the road?”
“Surely, I did that the first thing. He had neither passed nor seen them, he said.”
“Well, I’m going to interview him again. Come on, Miss Molly, to the stable with me,” cried Leslie.
“‘Molly,’ without the ‘Miss,’ please, and I’m ready enough! It seems as if I must be doing something, for everybody is looking so worried,” she answered, catching his outstretched hand and racing with him down the long porch and around to the stables in the rear.
Silent Pete had not gone to the loft where the workmen slept. He had wrapped himself in a blanket and, with another for a pillow, had settled himself in a corner of the loose box next the stalls where his team stood. He was so devoted to them that he couldn’t leave them alone in a strange stable, though from the snores which already came from him he didn’t seem a great protection to anything.
But Silent Pete was wily. He had heard the voices of the pair without the building, asking a groom to tell where Pete could be found, and had resented being disturbed. He had done his day’s work, he had no intention of joining in any search that might be made for the delinquents, and he promptly pretended slumber. But he hadn’t reckoned upon Leslie’s persistence nor his own uneasy conscience.
“Wake up there, Peter, if that’s your name! I’m your boss’s son, and I want a word with you. Wake up, man!”
The snores deepened. Rarely had the nose of mortal man emitted such ear-splitting sounds as now issued from the nostrils of the ranchman, as Leslie shoved aside the sliding door of the loose box and stepped within.
“Here, Molly-without-the-Miss, take the lantern and hold it so I can find the head inside that roll of blankets! Feet are big enough. Can’t miss them,” said the lad, stumbling over the protruding boots of the sleeper. “I’ll take this pitchfork and prod him up a bit. Hello, Pete! I say, Pete, you’ve earned your name one way – but you hardly deserve it another. ‘Silent!’ You’ll certainly keep the horses awake and – Wake up, I say! You shall!”
Leslie thrust the pitchfork into the boards of the floor so uncomfortably near that snoring nose that Pete hitched aside and so admitted himself awake. Molly ran into the box and held the lantern low, while the boy squatted at the teamster’s head and thumped it soundly. Both were giggling, which incensed their victim still further, and he suddenly tossed off his blanket with such force that it hit Molly’s face and made her jump away, while Leslie ordered:
“Quit that! Don’t you know how to treat a lady?”
There was no answer, save a frown directed toward the laughing girl, and the lad demanded:
“You’re to open your lips and tell us what you think has happened to that tenderfoot driver and his team. Why doesn’t he come in? They say you’re the oldest driver round, know the most about the roads, or trails, and your opinion’s wanted. Give it quick, because – Well, there’ll be some thing doin’ if you do know anything and don’t tell it. I don’t understand why I suspect you’re hiding things but I do; unless it’s that grudge I heard some men say you had against the ‘Sorrel’ fellow. Now, you talk. Where do you think that buckboard is?”
“Gone to smash.”
Molly screamed at this cool answer, and Leslie threatened his pitchfork. But it was neither of these things which moved Pete to tersely disclose his private opinion:
“I know nothin’. I guess shortcut and destruction. Lem knows the trail. T. Sorrel ain’t wuth huntin’, nor them boys. Little gal – might – Talk to Lem. Clear out.”
Having relieved his conscience of this much information the man buried his face again in his blanket and resumed his interrupted repose. Leslie wasted one moment of indignation upon him, as a heartless human being, then hurried out of the place and to his father.
When consulted, Lem Hunt hesitated for an instant only, then advised:
“Best get right a-doin’ things! No wagons, but fresh hosses and as many of ’em as want to go. Jiminy cricket! If T. Sorrel branched off where Pete thinks he did he’s done for hisself an’ all consarned. Let’s be steppin’!”
Fortunately, there were plenty of fresh horses at “Roderick’s” that night. A drove of them were corralled behind the inn, en route from a distant ranch to Denver, and thence eastward to market. All of them were well broken, to the saddle at least, and the best were promptly led out for Mr. Ford’s selection, leaving his own beasts to rest for the next day’s travel. Also, the drivers eagerly offered their own company, mounting without their saddles, which they insisted upon lending to the less experienced riders.
Excitement followed Lemuel’s advice to “Be steppin’,” and a very few minutes’ of bustling activity saw the cavalcade lined up before the inn with him for leader. It numbered Mr. Ford, Herbert and Monty, of that party; with Noll Roderick himself and three drovers. That Leslie had not joined the riders was due to his mother’s anxiety for his health, though his father had rather favored his going. The lad had been indignant at the “molly-coddling” and had hurt the tender heart of the Gray Lady by some angry words. Then he had walked away to the extreme end of the long piazza, whence he watched the disappearance of the rescuers down the moonlight road. As the horses’ footfalls died in the distance, his grumblings were interrupted by a light touch on his arm.
“Come around this corner, boy! Hurry up!”
He turned to find Molly Breckenridge beside him, her finger on her lip, and a wild light in her eyes. She was trembling with excitement and could scarcely wait to whisper:
“I’m going, too!”
“Girl, how can you?”
“Horseback, course. Roderick’s daughter’s lending me her own pony. Mattie, her name is, and she was all for going with the others but her mother can’t spare her. I told her I was just crazy, thinking of my Dorothy; hurt maybe, lost anyway, and nobody but a lot of men to speak to, even if they find her. Do you s’pose I’ll desert her? That I love best of all the world? I guess not. I’m a Breckenridge! Good-by!”
There was mischief in her eyes as she turned to leave him and Leslie laughed:
“Course! You’re thoroughbred – I saw that right away. And you’re my guest! Could I, as a gentleman, let you ride off alone on a lonely road at night? Hurray! You’re A 1! You’re rippin’!”
Molly sped around the house. She wasn’t familiar, as yet, with Leslie’s “rippin’” but she knew he’d approved of her wild prank and would join her in it. She was a far better rider than he, for in her own southern home she had been reared to the saddle and was never happier than when she had a good horse at command. Mattie’s pony was swift and easy, and Molly sprang to its back with the feeling that now she was “really doing something,” and that very speedily she would have her arms about her missing friend and all would be well. She had also begged Mattie to get a mount for Leslie, forseeing that he would follow her – exactly as he did. Another instant, and the pair were off along a little by-path, toward the main road and the pursuit of the searching party. As they struck into the smoother going Molly touched the calico pony with her whip and called to Leslie:
“Come on! Hurry up! We’ll have to ride like the wind to catch up with the rest!”
“All right – I’ll do my best but – but this – old nag – wait a little bit!”
Molly wheeled about and did so, but the delay made her extremely impatient, and with some contempt she remarked, as the lad came alongside:
“Why, I supposed you could ride! You looked like a boy who knew how!”
“So I do! But this thing I’m on – Call this a horse? I’d rather have a mule! How dared they give me such a thing?”
In her hurry Molly had not observed the animal which had stood saddled at the stable door, and that now seemed as ugly and tiresome a beast as her own little pony was fine. Pity then banished vexation and she exclaimed:
“You poor fellow! I don’t believe Matty meant you to have that beast. But, come on, anyway. Maybe he’ll warm up after a bit, and I’ll take that back – that I said about your riding. I reckon you’re all right. Anybody must be who can stick on the rack-o’-bones you’ve got. Touch him up a little – I’ll set the pace.”
Away she sped while the gaunt creature which Leslie bestrode planted his forefeet firmly on the ground and refused to lift them thence. Molly was fast passing around a curve in the road and would then be out of sight, and Leslie’s temper rose to its height. He forgot everything except his own awkward position and the fact that his lively young guest could have the laugh on him when that night’s tale was told.
“Oh! you hateful beast! You won’t go, eh? Well, go you shall! Hear me? Take that – and that – and – THAT!”
Blows rained hard and fast, till the lash of the whip gave out, and the butt took its place. Then, as if the astonished horse had just aroused to the state of things, it bolted! and the way its old heels picked up that road was the most amazing thing of all that evening’s happenings.
Then, indeed, did Leslie prove himself a better horseman than he looked, and, for all time to come, his full ability to “stick.” Riding ahead at a smart pace, but not her pony’s best, Molly heard the footfalls behind her and swerved out of the way – not a minute too soon! Evidently, the maligned “rack-o’-bones” would otherwise have ridden her down. He passed her like a whirlwind and then – she after him. Followed, a race to be remembered! The big horse keeping the lead, the little “calico” pit-pattering along behind in a hopeless effort to get even.
Thus for what seemed an endless time, the long dusty road was desolate of any travellers except this pair of runaways. Sometimes a coyote yelped in the distance; occasionally some creeping thing barred the track before them; and a screech owl sent its blood-curdling cries into their ears. Otherwise they were alone in the wilderness and the night, and beyond speaking distance even of one another.
The effect was to set each culprit thinking. How wild a thing they had done! How thoughtless, how selfish! What fresh anxiety they had added to the troubled hearts back there at “Roderick’s,” as soon as their absence was discovered! How flat their jolly adventure had fallen!
Molly had bound Mattie to secrecy, and there was that about the western girl that convinced the other that the secret would be kept. If Mrs. Roderick did guess what had become of them, and said so, it would be no comfort to Lady Gray and Helena; and the longer Molly pondered the matter, the more ashamed and terrified she felt. What would Aunt Lucretia say? And what her father – could he see his madcap at that moment?
In a bitter reaction of feeling the girl dropped her head upon the pony’s neck, though still mechanically urging the willing creature to her utmost speed. Her thoughts were far away when, suddenly, she felt a check upon the rein and lifted her startled face.
“Why, Leslie! You scared me!”
“Were you asleep?”
“No.”
“What then? Your head was down. The ‘calico’ was taking her own way. What’s the matter?”
“It’s none – I mean, if you must know, I was crying.”
“Oh! horrors! Why?”
“Because I’ve done such a dreadful thing. It was wicked. I had no right and – and – ”
“Yes, I know. You were frightened. Well, I was, too.”
Molly straightened her shoulders and pretended contempt, saying:
“I didn’t know as gentlemen – ‘thoroughbreds,’ you know – western thoroughbreds ever were fr-fri-ghtened. What – was – that?”
A curious cry had reached them and Molly finished her speech in a whisper. The horses, also, had heard it and had thrust back their ears in fear.
Just there the road skirted the edge of a forest and the cry had come from its depths. They peered into the shadows but could see nothing, and edging the pony close to Beelzebub, as Leslie’s mount was named, Molly repeated her question.
“Likely a wild cat, puma, or wolf. I don’t know,” he answered.
“Have you heard it before? Was it that scared you?”
“No, I was afraid something would happen to you, left behind, alone. I fancy we’re in no danger that way – ” pointing forestward. “But – ”
“‘But’ – what? If you thought about me why didn’t you come back to look for me?”
“I couldn’t. Once he got in motion this beast wouldn’t stop till he – ran down like a clock.”
“Pooh! You should go to a riding school! Let’s go on, now, or else back. I can’t stop here with lions and panthers yelling at us! I – I – Oh! do come on! But keep tight hold of the pony’s rein. Don’t get away from me again.”