Virginia of V. M. Ranch

He removed his gayly adorned peaked hat and took from it a letter, which he handed to Virginia.

VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH

By GRACE MAY NORTH

Author of

“Virginia at Vine Haven,” “Virginia’s Adventure
Club,” “Virginia’s Ranch Neighbors,” “Virginia’s Romance.”

A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Printed in U. S. A.

THE VIRGINIA DAVIS SERIES

A SERIES OF STORIES FOR GIRLS OF TWELVE
TO SIXTEEN YEARS OF AGE

By GRACE MAY NORTH

VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH
VIRGINIA AT VINE HAVEN
VIRGINIA’S ADVENTURE CLUB
VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS
VIRGINIA’S ROMANCE

DEDICATED TO

Virginia Davis
Margaret Selover
Barbara Blair Wente

And to all other girls in their teens
who like adventure and the desert.

VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH

CHAPTER I—VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH.

Down a winding mountain trail, a girl of sixteen was riding on Comrade, her wiry red-brown pony.

It was a glorious morning. The sky above was a gleaming cloudless blue, the desert, below, stretching to the far horizon, shimmered white in the sunlight, while some bird in a canon near was caroling a tipsy song of joy, but these things Virginia Davis did not see or hear, for her eyes were gazing at the rugged trail and her thoughts were puzzling over the contents of a letter which her brother Malcolm had brought to her that morning when he had returned from the town of Douglas which was twenty miles away.

Her father’s best friend had died the year before, and had left a motherless girl all alone in the world. When Mr. Selover realized that he had not long to live he had written Mr. Davis asking him to become the guardian of his daughter, Margaret, who was then in a select boarding school in the East.

In some unaccountable manner, the letter had been delayed for many months, and during that time, Mr. Davis had also died, leaving Virginia and Malcolm as sole owners of the vast cattle ranch which was known as “The V. M.”

This morning Virginia had ridden to the top of the trail where she often went when she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, for the long delayed letter had indeed brought a new problem to these two young people.

This unknown Margaret Selover, it seemed, was their father’s ward. Ought they not to assume the responsibility which he would so gladly have taken had he lived? And yet, what if the girl should prove to be very unlike themselves? She might not care to make her home on their wonderful desert, and, if she did not, would it be right for them to take her from an environment in which she was happy and content? But how could they tell, since they did not know her?

Comrade had carefully wended his way down the mountain trail and had carried his young mistress, who was deeply absorbed in thought, across the dry creek, under a clump of cottonwood trees and up the steep farther bank before the girl looked about her with eyes that saw.

Her brother was galloping toward her. “Ho, Virginia!” he hailed as he waved his wide sombrero. “Did your Inspiration Peak help you to solve our problem? What are we to do with our ward?”

The girl flashed a smile at the lad, whose frank, bronzed face resembled her own, for, though he was two years her senior, twins could not have been more alike or dearer to each other.

“If only we knew what type of a girl this Margaret is,” his sister replied as he wheeled his horse about and rode by her side, “we could so much more easily decide upon a plan. I did indeed receive an inspiration, but one hard to carry out I fear. I have been wishing that in some way we might become acquainted with our ward without having her know who we are.”

“You are right, sister,” Malcolm said seriously. “I do not wish to invite this unknown girl to share our home unless I am convinced that your life will be made happier by the companionship. Our father would not wish it otherwise. Now tell me your plan.”

Virginia looked at her brother with unexpected laughter in her violet-blue eyes. “It is one by which we could become acquainted with our ward without revealing to her our true identity. Harken and you shall hear.”

Malcolm’s hearty laughter rang out when the half serious, half merry plan had been told.

“If only we can persuade Uncle Tex to play the role of elderly guardian,” he exclaimed. “I am sure that your little drama, when staged, will bring about the desired results, but, knowing our faithful old overseer as well as I do, I fear that we may have a tragedy, or a comedy, which perhaps would be equally disastrous.”

Virginia’s amused expression had changed to one of serious concern. “Brother,” she said, “if we do carry out my plan, will it be quite honest to Margaret?”

“Not right in the beginning I must confess,” Malcolm replied, “but, of course, we will at once tell her the truth, if, after meeting her, we decided to invite her to become one of our household, but, on the contrary, if we find that she would not wish to share our home, she would, of course, return to the school where she has been for so many years. We will at least have tried to do our duty as we see it.”

“Then shall I write the letter?” the violet eyes turned questioningly.

“Yes, that will be the prologue to the little drama. Rusty Pete is going to Silver Creek Junction this afternoon and he will start the message on its eastward journey.”

Again Malcolm’s amused laughter rang out. “It will be better not to let Uncle Tex know that we have designs upon him,” he said, “for, if he has an inkling, even, that we are going to request him to do a bit of ‘play actin’ as he would call it, he will start at once for the mountain cabin, the location of which we have never been able to discover.”

Their low rambling ranch house having been reached, Virginia leaped to the ground, tossing the reins to her brother, who, still chuckling to himself, rode on down to the corral where an old, white-haired man could be seen repairing a fence.

CHAPTER II—MARGARET.

Barbara Blair Wente in the Vine Haven Seminary looked up from the cosy window seat where she was comfortably curled, studying French verbs, when she heard the door open. It was Margaret Selover, her room-mate, who entered.

“Megsy,” Babs exclaimed with real concern as she sprang to her feet and approached her friend with hands outstretched, “what has happened, dear? Are the algebra reports in and didn’t you pass, or, is it something else?”

The newcomer looked at Barbara with eyes tear-brimmed. She tried to speak but her lips quivered; then, flinging herself down upon the couch, she sobbed as though her heart would break.

Babs, deeply concerned, knelt by the side of her room-mate, and tenderly smoothing the gold-brown curls, she pleaded. “Tell me, Megsy darling, can’t I help?”

Impulsively Margaret sat up, and, putting her arms about her friend she sobbed. “Oh Babs, I can’t do it! I won’t do it! I did think that my dad loved me too much to punish me so.”

“Can’t, won’t do what?” Barbara sat on the couch and drew her room-mate comfortingly close. “Megsy, please begin at the beginning.”

Margaret put her hand in a pocket of her rose-colored sweater-coat and drew out a crumpled letter.

“It’s from some-one way out on that terrible Arizona desert,” she said, “and it informs me that my father appointed a Mr. Davis as my guardian and that the elderly gentleman, having given the matter due thought, believes that it is time for me to come to his home and take the place that my father wished me to occupy, that of a rancher’s adopted daughter.”

Barbara gazed at her friend, almost unable to comprehend. “Megsy, does this mean that you and I are to be parted? That you are to leave Vine Haven Seminary forever?”

For a brief moment Margaret sat as though stunned, but her room-mate’s words roused her to action. Springing up in a sudden tempest of anger, she tore across the room, threw open the desk and began to write rapidly.

“There!” she exclaimed a few moments later. “I have written my answer.”

“Read it,” Barbara begged, and in a hard cold voice, very unlike her own, that was merry and musical, Margaret read:

“My Dear Mr. Davis:—

“You undoubtedly have written with the kindest of motives, but the picture you present is not in the least attractive to me. A ranch house on a desolate desert twenty miles from town is not a home which I wish to enter.

“It is better for me to be honest and tell you at once that I do not care to be your adopted daughter. I have a sufficient income on which to live and I shall remain at Vine Haven Seminary until I have graduated. Soon after that I will be eighteen and you will no longer be responsible for my actions.”

Barbara listened and watched, puzzled indeed at this new Margaret. “Dear,” she said when her friend paused, evidently expecting comment, “it is very unlike you to hurt anyone. Couldn’t you add a little something that would soften the sting?”

With a shrug Margaret turned back to the desk and after a thoughtful moment, she again wrote a few lines. Then in a voice more like her own, she read:—“Since you were a close friend of my father, I regret that I must make a decision that may seem defiant, but surely you would not wish to have in your home a rebellious daughter and that is what I would be.

“Sincerely yours,

“Margaret Selover.”

Without waiting for further comment, the letter was sealed and stamped.

“I hope you are doing right, dear,” Barbara said; then, almost tearfully: “If you do go so far away, Vine Haven will be more desolate to me than the desert.”

“I’m not going!” Margaret remarked conclusively, then, springing up, she added. “Three bells! Time for French class and I haven’t even looked at those verbs.”

Together they left their room and descended the wide flight of stairs. “I’ll skip ahead and put this letter in the mail pouch,” Margaret declared; then, somewhat repentantly: “Really, Babs, I am sorry to hurt the feelings of the old man. Father often told me how much he admired Mr. Davis who was many years his senior. They owned some mining property together near Bisbee. In fact, I believe that my income is derived from that same copper mine even now. Well, someday soon I’ll send him another and a kindlier letter, but there isn’t time today, and he will, of course, be watching for an answer.”

But before the other letter was written, something very unexpected happened.

CHAPTER III—MARGARET’S REPLY.

Virginia was right in believing that she would receive a reply from their unknown ward as soon as one could possibly reach them. She had counted the days that her own letter would require for its journey east, and then had allowed one in between, and so, at last, the day had dawned when she might reasonably expect to hear from the unknown Margaret.

Luckily Rusty Pete was in town and would bring the mail if there was any. Virginia, as she went about her household tasks that morning, skipped often to the wide front veranda and looked up the mesa. A huge cactus growing at the top of the trail stood like a silent sentinel and around this a horse and rider soon appeared.

As the girl hoped, it was one of their two faithful cow-boys. “Good morning, Rusty Pete,” she called, as he rode alongside of the wide, shady porch. “Have you letters for me?”

“I reckon I have, Miss Virginia. ’Pears to me a couple is stowed away somewhar’s.” As he spoke, the cow-boy thrust a lean, brown hand into his deep leather pocket, then, with a sudden smile that wonderfully illumined his rugged wind and sun bronzed face, he removed his wide sombrero and drew forth two letters that were very unlike each other in appearance.

“Didn’t pack the pouch ’long this time,” he explained, “so put ’em thar for safe keepin’.”

The girl laughed. “Thank you, Rusty Pete,” she said, and then the long, lank cow-boy rode on toward the corral.

After glancing at the name in the upper left hand corner of the lilac scented and tinted envelope, Virginia uttered a little excited ejaculation, and, catching her wide hat from the top step, she raced down the trail to the fenced-in enclosure where Malcolm was busy filling the trough near the windmill for the yearlings were soon to be driven in from the range.

“What ho?” he called when he saw the figure flying toward him. The girl waved the two unopened letters and Malcolm, equally interested, vaulted the bars and stood at her side.

“Has our ward written?” he inquired merrily. “Is she eager to be the adopted daughter of an elderly rancher?”

There was a shade of anxiety in the violet eyes that were lifted to him. “Brother,” she said, “I wonder if we did wrong to deceive Margaret. Of course it was merely to be a temporary arrangement. If she comes, Uncle Tex is to play the role of elderly guardian, that is, if he can be persuaded to do so, then you, as cow-boy, and I, as housekeeper, will have a splendid opportunity to become acquainted with our ward and find out what manner of girl she really is.”

While Virginia had been talking, she had opened the tinted envelope. One glance at the very short note and her merry laughter pealed forth.

“Brother, Margaret actually refuses to come. Well, we surely may thank whatever kindly fate has delivered us from having this young tornado in our home.” Virginia handed the letter to Malcolm as she spoke.

The other long white envelope she glanced at casually, and, believing it to be the usual monthly report from their lawyer’s office, she did not open it, but waving farewell to her brother, who had again vaulted the bars, Virginia returned to the house and to her morning tasks.

It was half an hour later before she recalled the long legal looking envelope.

“I might as well skim it over,” she thought, “and then I can tell Malcolm about it and he will not need to take the time to read it.”

Dropping down into a comfortable cushioned wicker chair out on the veranda, Virginia leisurely opened it. Her thoughts were wandering when she began to read, but suddenly she sat erect and stared at the typed page. Then she re-read it slowly from the beginning to be sure that she had really understood its purport.

Shags, the big collie dog, lying nearby, half dozing in the sun was startled to see his mistress leap to her feet and tear madly down the trail toward the corral. Believing that he might miss something of unusual interest if he did not follow, he raced after, barking and bounding.

Malcolm looked up in surprise. “Ho Sis,” he called, “had you overlooked a postscript in our ward’s letter? Is she coming after all?”

Then noting how pale was his sister’s face, he hastened to her side. “It’s a letter from Mr. Benton, our father’s lawyer. I don’t understand business matters as you do, and perhaps I do not rightly comprehend the meaning of this. I sincerely hope I do not.”

But Virginia had rightly understood. Mr. Denton, their lawyer in Douglas had written:

“Dear young friends:—

“This morning a letter was received by me that you may be able to interpret better than I can. I did not know that your father had been appointed guardian of a girl named Margaret Selover, but the letter which I have this day received from an eastern law firm informs me that the income which has been sent, since her father’s death, to this young girl, has been abruptly discontinued as the mines from which it is derived are no longer paying.

“Since Miss Selover is referred to as your father’s ward, I presume that she is residing with you, and so I thought best to communicate with you at once.

“Trusting that the deprivation will be but temporary,

“I remain,

“Your faithful friend and adviser,

“Harry L. Benton.”

“Which means?” Virginia’s tone was one of inquiry.

“Which means that we will have to lasso that young tornado and bring her here, whether or not she wishes to come,” was the dismal reply, “for surely, you and I, Virg, cannot afford to pay Miss Selover’s tuition at a fashionable seminary.”

“No, we cannot,” his sister agreed, then—“Shall I write to poor Margaret and tell her the sad news?”

“I think the ones to be pitied are Virginia and Malcolm,” the lad spoke vehemently, “but, there is no alternative. Write the letter and I’ll take it to Silver Creek Junction. I’m going that far right after lunch to help drive in the yearlings.”

A week later another letter bearing the Vine Haven postmark arrived on the desert. With a heavy heart Virginia opened it, and after a hurried perusal, she decided that “lassoing the young tornado” as her brother had called their ward, was not to be a pleasant pastime.

“My dear Mr. Davis,” she read:

“Your letter came this morning informing me that my income has ceased. I believe that to be an absolute untruth, a ruse to try to force my obedience to your will. Of course you have accomplished your end for I am too proud to remain at this seminary unless I can pay my tuition, but I warn you, my stay with you will be no longer than absolute necessity requires and it will in no way add to your happiness to have a rebellious girl in your home.

“I hope that you will reconsider and send my allowance which is already one week over due.

“Margaret Selover.”

“Whew-oo!” Malcolm’s whistle was one of mingled astonishment and amusement.

“I feel about as I did when I broke in Wild Fire, Virg,” he said, his grey eyes twinkling at the recollection. “I had never before met a spirit so untamed.”

Virginia laughed. “This defiant young lady would not feel complimented to have her temper compared to a bucking broncho,” she said, “but I suppose that come she must, until she is old enough to be self-supporting, but my heart aches for her. I am almost inclined to tell her the whole truth. Shall I?” The violet eyes were moist and imploring, but the lad shook his head.

“Let’s carry out our original plan first. We may even yet find a loop hole of escape.”

Slowly and thoughtfully, Virginia walked back over the well worn trail to the ranch house. She was planning the letter which later was written and mailed.

CHAPTER IV—PLOTTING AND PLANNING.

That evening before the wide fireplace on which a mesquite root was cheerfully burning, three people sat plotting and planning.

Virginia had at last decided to take Uncle Tex into their confidence. He it was who had first taught five-year-old Malcolm to ride and shoot and Virginia he loved as dearly as he could have loved an own daughter if he had had one.

“It’s powerful unpleasant business, ’pears like to me,” the old man said as he shook his shaggy grey head, “but I reckon if you uns cal-late its yer dooty, we all will have to put it through, but yer ol’ Uncle Tex is common poor at the play actin’.”

He looked so truly distressed that Virginia drew her chair closer and placed her slim, strong hand on his arm. “Don’t be troubled about it yet, Uncle Tex, we’ll make it as easy for you as we can.” Then, looking to her brother, she added with thoughtful seriousness. “I wonder if we ought to permit our ward to journey across the continent alone. I am confident that she has always been protected by her father’s loving care, just as I have been, although I feel sure that I could make the journey alone and in safety, and yet, since Margaret is our ward, we are responsible, as I am sure that our father would wish us to be, for her well being.”

“You are right, Virg,” the lad replied. “I wish we knew some one who might be coming west at the same time, who would consent to keep an eye on our young tornado.”

There was a twinkle in the eyes of the lad, and his sister, noticing it, exclaimed: “Malcolm Davis, I actually believe that you like our ward all the better because she is high spirited.”

“Well,” the lad confessed, “I do like spirit, I’ll agree. I’d like to see the girl.”

“Ah reckon we-all will see plenty of her before we’re finished with her.” Uncle Tex drawled in so doleful a tone that Malcolm laughed heartily.

“Or until she finishes us,” he exclaimed merrily as he rose and wound the clock.

“We must retire early tonight, Sis,” he added, “for I want to be in the saddle before daybreak as I am due at Slater’s to help round up the young steers that are to be shipped to Chicago next week.”

The girl sprang up and looked down at the old man who sat staring dismally into the fire.

“Uncle Tex,” she exclaimed gaily as she stooped and caught one of his work-hardened hands, “you look as though you had just received an invitation to your own funeral. Don’t you enjoy the prospect of being guardian, pro tem, to a young lady tornado?”

“Don’ know nothin’ ’bout protems, Miss Virginia, dearie, but I do kinda dread bein’ gardeen to a gal that don’ want to be gardeened nohow, but if you’n Malcolm need my help, sech as it is, yer welcome to it.”

The old man had risen and impulsively the girl threw her arms about him and pressing her fresh young cheek against the wrinkled and leathery one, she said consolingly: “Now, Uncle Tex, dear, don’t lie awake worrying about your new responsibility for if Margaret proves tractable, which means nice and pleasant, we will tell her the whole truth, but if she continues disagreeable and rebellious, we will soon pack her off somewhere else.”

Then she bade goodnight to the old man who had been her father’s first overseer and he departed for his room which adjoined the kitchen, for the girl would not permit him to sleep in the less comfortable bunk house with the younger cow-boys. Then she too retired, but she lay awake until late wondering what the future held for them.

CHAPTER V—MALCOLM’S GREAT NEWS.

The next day was a busy one at the V. M. Ranch, for a crate of fruit arrived for Virginia and she preserved and canned until at last the grandfather clock in the living-room chimed the hour of five. Then she stood back and proudly surveyed row after row of jars, some golden and others glowingly ruddy.

Then, taking off her all-over apron, and donning her wide felt hat, she thought that to get a breath of the cool evening air, she would ride toward the Slater Ranch and meet her brother who would soon be returning.

Uncle Tex saddled Comrade for her, and then stood watching as his beloved “gal” cantered away toward the mesa. She turned to wave to him when she reached the sentinel cactus which stood with two branches outstretched like defending arms that were covered with long prickly thorns.

She drew rein when she reached the highest point and sat on her red-brown pony watching the glory of the setting sun. At last when the golden light had left all but the highest mountain peaks, and deep shadows were purpling the canons, she beheld silhouetted against the after glow, a horseman approaching at a gallop.

Believing it to be her brother, she rode down the trail to meet him. Malcolm, she realized, was hilariously excited about something, for every now and then he snatched off his sombrero and waved it to the waiting girl.

“News! Great news!” he shouted as he drew near.

“What is it?” Virginia asked as she wheeled her pony about and side by side they rode toward home through the deepening dusk.

“I’ll give you three guesses.” This had been their way of telling news items to each other from their earliest childhood.

“Oh brother, don’t make me guess it this time. I just know that it is something of unusual interest,” the girl implored.

“It is.” This in Malcolm’s most tantalizing manner. “Well, I’ll give you a hint. It’s something about the coming of our young tornado.”

“Oh.” Virginia’s expression brightened. “Have you heard of someone who will escort her from the East?”

“Righto, Sis, you’re doing splendidly, but who?”

They were descending the narrow trail from the mesa, and, since Virginia was in the lead, she could not see the elated expression on the face of her brother.

“Um-m, let me see,” she replied thoughtfully. “May I have five minutes to think?”

“I’ll give you until the Dry Creek is crossed,” was the merry reply.

They rode on in silence while Virginia’s thoughts were busy trying to solve the mystery. Of course Malcolm must have heard of this possible escort during his day at the Slater Ranch while rounding up the steers that were to be sent to Chicago.

“Oh, I have it!” she whirled about in her saddle to exclaim exultingly.

“Some one, of course, is to accompany the car-load of steers to the big city and that some-one will meet Margaret there and escort her back to Douglas.”

“Congratulations sister! Now, since you are so clever at guessing tonight, suppose you tell me who is to go with the cattle.”

“Malcolm Davis, I do believe that you are,” the girl instantly declared. “There’s a ring in your voice which convinces me that you are at last to have the opportunity for which you have so longed. Are you now old enough to be trusted on so important a mission?”

“Mr. Slater thinks so. He asked me to go,” the lad replied jubiliantly, as he swung from his saddle, “but wait until after supper and then I will tell you my plan.”

CHAPTER VI—FAREWELL TO BOARDING SCHOOL.

A week passed and Margaret Selover had received a letter, supposedly from the elderly Mr. Davis, bidding her start on her westward journey Friday, the 25th.

Barbara Blair Wente, fluffy, golden and petite, sat curled up on the window seat of the room they had shared together for the past year looking the picture of misery.

“I hate him! Hate him!” Margaret was saying as she thumped a small pillow preparatory to packing it in her trunk. Then she added, rising and looking her defiance, “but he won’t keep me long, Babs. You may be sure of that. I’ll make life so unpleasant for my hoary guardian that he will soon be glad to release me. Oh dear, how I do wish that I were older so that I might begin earning my own living, but just wait until I’m eighteen. Then I will do something. Other girls do and I believe I am normally clever.”

“Who do you suppose is to meet you in Chicago?” Barbara inquired.

“Don’t know and don’t care,” was the somewhat muffled reply from the trunk, the cover of which was closed a moment later with a snap. Then Margaret sat upon it as she remarked:—“My guardian kindly informed me that I need have nothing whatever to say to my escort if I did not wish to be friendly, but that, at least, I must allow him to look out for my welfare.”

Babs sat up and looked interested. “Margaret, what if it should be a real cow-boy like the ones we have seen in the moving pictures. Those handsome young giants who are always helping damsels in distress. Wouldn’t that be romantic? I’m just wild to see a live cow-boy myself. They are fascinating on the screen.”

“Well, they don’t appeal to me,” Margaret replied, “I prefer boys who are dressed in civilized clothes and who know how to talk. All of the cow-boys in fiction use the queerest kind of a language.”

Four bells pealed through the corridors and Barbara rose reluctantly.

“Even if my heart is nearly broken over your departure, Megsy, I suppose I’ll have to go down to this old recitation,” she said.

Margaret also rose and going to the window, she looked out at the bleak orchard. “I’m not going. What’s the use of working out problems in geometry today when tomorrow I will be gone?”

Just at that moment there were skipping footsteps outside in the corridor followed by an imperative knocking at the door.

Barbara opened it to admit a pretty, eager-eyed child, who held up a yellow envelope. “It’s for you, Miss Margaret,” she said. “Mrs. Martin said to bring it right up.”

The girl, as she opened the telegram, sincerely hoped that in it she would find a message bidding her to remain at the school, but she did not.

“Leave, if possible, on the 8.30 train tonight which reaches Chicago at six tomorrow morning. Wear a red ribbon bow that you may easily be recognized.”

It was signed: “Peter Wallace.”

Margaret’s eyes flashed and she tore the telegram to bits. “Peter Wallace, indeed! I’m not going to take orders from a wild west cow-boy. He may meet the six o’clock train tomorrow morning, but I won’t be on it.”

However, when Barbara had reluctantly departed for her class, Margaret found that the prospect of arriving in Chicago alone and unprotected was not a pleasant one to contemplate. With her father she had spent one day in the big city and she remembered how she had clung to his hand when they had crossed the streets and how terrorized she had been by the rush and roar of the traffic.

An hour later, when Babs returned, she was surprised to find that the trunk had been taken to the station. That evening Mrs. Martin and Barbara accompanied the young traveler to the train, as the principal of the school wished to be sure that her young charge was started safely on this, her first journey alone, and in the care of the kindly conductor.

It was not until the next morning, when the train was slowly entering Chicago, that Margaret, weary from an excited and sleepless night, placed a small red ribbon bow on the lapel of her warm, gold-brown coat, wondering, as she did so, what manner of person her escort would be.

CHAPTER VII—MARGARET’S ESCORT.

Meanwhile Malcolm in a nearby hotel was preparing to play the role upon which he and Virginia had decided.

A grey wig and mustache changed his appearance so completely, that even one well acquainted with him would not, at first glance, have recognized him.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Peter Wallace,” he said to his beaming reflection. Then, donning his sombrero, he started out as he thought, “Now I know what I will look like twenty years hence. I do wish Virg was here. How she would laugh to see me in this disguise.”

Ten minutes later, when the train drew to a standstill, Mr. Peter Wallace watched each passenger alight with the aid of a colored porter.

At last he saw an unusually pretty young girl in a gold-brown suit and trim traveling hat who stood for a moment looking around helplessly.

Malcolm’s heart pounded queerly. He hadn’t supposed that their rebellious ward would be good-looking. In fact he hadn’t thought anything about it.

He went closer, almost believing that this maiden could not be the one he expected, but there was a small red ribbon bow on the lapel of her coat.

For a moment Malcolm almost forgot that he was a middle-aged rancher and was about to advance in his usual buoyant fashion, when a warning thought recalled to him: “You are Mr. Peter Wallace, not Malcolm Davis who is to greet this young girl.” And so, when Margaret’s almost frightened gaze, wandering over the heedless, hurrying throng, turned toward the approaching stranger, she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man, whose stride might have suggested that he was younger than his grey hair indicated.

“Are you Miss Selover?” he inquired in as matter-of-fact a tone as he could assume.

“I am,” the girl replied, rather frigidly, now that she was no longer frightened. “Are you Mr. Peter Wallace?”

Malcolm did not voice his reply, but she took it for granted, as he had at once reached for her satchels. She was secretly glad that her escort was middle-aged. Somehow that fact made her feel more at ease.

When they had crossed the city in the jolting, rattling omnibus, and the girl, at last, was comfortably seated in the luxurious chair car, Malcolm said, “I will leave you now, Miss Selover, but at noon I will come for you and we will lunch together.”

When he was gone Margaret watched the flying landscape without seeing it.

This man, she thought, was evidently a middle-aged rancher, and yet he spoke English as correctly as any of the boys she knew. She had not supposed such a thing possible.

How she wished that he were her guardian, instead of that illiterate Mr. Davis who had written such unkind letters to her, and who had unjustly deprived her of her rightful allowance. She just hated him and she always would.

Two hours later her reverie was interrupted by the decidedly pleasant voice of her escort who was telling her that he would accompany her to the diner.

Malcolm was thoroughly enjoying this strange new experience and yet there were moments when he wished that he might snatch off his disguise and tell the whole truth to the girl, who, now and then turned toward him such wistful brown eyes, but he would wait and let Virginia decide when to make the revelation.

CHAPTER VIII—THE ARRIVAL OF MARGARET.

Virginia was up before the sun on the day that she was expecting the arrival of her brother and his rebellious ward.

“I’m so interested and excited,” she confided to Shags who trotted along at her side when she went down to what Rusty Pete called “the hen corral” to feed the plump biddies that resided there.

Promptly at nine o’clock they were to depart for Silver Creek Junction, at which lonely station the trains would stop, when flagged, or when passengers had so requested.

Poor Uncle Tex, dressed in a linen suit and wearing a wide panama hat, was miserably uncomfortable, and, as he stood at the window in the big living-room, he looked longingly toward the distant mountains. Even yet he could escape, but if his “gal” needed his help at this play acting, he’d try to do his best, but how he did wish that he might change places with Slim, the lithe young cow-boy who at that moment was within the range of the old man’s vision endeavoring to break the wild spirits of a bucking broncho.

Skipping to the side of the elderly man, in a manner much too frivolous for the wearer of such sombre attire.

Hearing an inner door open, he turned and beheld what might have been an elderly housekeeper in bonnet and shawl, a black bombazine dress the girl had borrowed from dear old Grandmother Slater.

Skipping to the side of the elderly man, in a manner much too frivolous for the wearer of such sombre attire, the girl caught his hand as she exclaimed merrily: “Why Uncle Tex, I mean Mr. Davis, how stylish you do look! If you have observed yourself in the mirror, I ’spect you will want to dress up like this every day in the year.”

The old man looked very miserable as he slowly shook his head. “No, ah won’t, Miss Virginia dearie,” he said. “Ah was jest thinkin’ as how ah’d rather rope the contrariest steer thar ever was than be play-actin’ this-a-way.” Then wheedlingly he added, “Don’t you spose as how you could get along jest as well without me? Couldn’t you be sayin’ as how her gardeen had gone away for a spell?”

The old man’s pleading was interrupted by a merry honking from without and Virginia caught his work-hardened hand and led him out to the waiting car.

The weather-bronzed features of Rusty Pete widened into a smile and he found it hard to keep his mirth within bounds. He wanted to shout. It was as good as a circus, he thought, to see Uncle Tex rigged up like a gentleman, but, when he saw how red and uncomfortable the old man looked, the kind hearted cow-boy refrained from uttering the bantering remark which the old overseer’s appearance had suggested. However, when he was alone on the front seat of the big touring car, his grin resembled that of the Cheshire cat, nor did it cease until the railway station was reached.

Several ponies were tied to the hitching posts and a spirited young mustang belonging to Slick Cy, a cow-boy from the Slater Ranch, reared as the car came to a stop nearby.

Uncle Tex and the supposed housekeeper alighted. Virginia, glancing at the poor old man, realized that he would probably be tongue-tied when the moment to speak arrived and so she said impulsively: “Uncle Tex, you needn’t say those lines of welcome that I taught you, if you’d rather not. I’ll play the part of a garrulous housekeeper and talk so much and so fast that you won’t have a chance to get a word in edgeways.”

There was a deep sigh of relief from the old man who said gratefully: “Thanks, Miss Virginia dearie. I wan’t cut out for play-actin’, seems like.”

“Here comes the train!” Rusty Pete sang out from the auto. Virginia and the old man turned toward the mountain tunnel through which appeared two great black engines puffing noisily. Then the long train slowly came into sight and to a standstill.

Virginia’s heart was pounding like a trip hammer. She was wondering what their ward would look like, cross and homely and disagreeable, one might judge from her letters.

There were only two people to alight and at first the western girl thought them to be a father and daughter and believed that her brother had not come. When she did recognize his walk and bearing, she could hardly keep from laughing at his disguise. Surely, he made a most good-looking middle-aged rancher, but the trim, really pretty young girl, who was walking toward them at his side, surely she could not be the ward who had written such defiant letters. There must be a mistake somewhere.

For a moment, Virginia herself almost forgot the role that she was to play, but recalling it, just in time, she hurried forward with hands outstretched. “Good day, Mr. Wallace,” she said; then to Margaret, “Are you Miss Selover?” Without waiting for a reply she hurried on.

“I am your guardian’s housekeeper. We hope that you’ll be happy here. I assure you that Mr. Davis deeply regretted the circumstances which compelled him to send for you and he hopes to be able to permit you to return to school next year if you are not happy here.” Then, the introductory remarks having been finished, as planned, Virginia concluded, “Come with me, Miss Margaret, and I will introduce you to your guardian.”

They advanced a few steps toward the station house, where Uncle Tex had been standing when Virginia had hurried forward to greet the newcomers, but the old man was not to be seen.

“Excuse me one moment,” the astonished Virginia exclaimed. Then she went over to the waiting auto. Rusty Pete’s grin was wider than ever, if such a feat were possible. “Rusty, where is Uncle Tex?” the girl asked him.

The cow-boy pointed to a cloud of dust which was rapidly disappearing in the direction of V. M. Ranch. “He got panicky, I guess, for all of a sudden he ran over here like a mad man, jumped up on Slick Cy’s horse and away he went. He didn’t stop to explanate anything, but rode as though the wild wolves were after him.”

“Poor Uncle Tex!” Virginia laughed, and then she returned to explain to Margaret that her guardian had suddenly remembered that he had a very important engagement, but that in all probability they would find him awaiting them at the ranch house.

But Virginia was wrong in her surmise. When the ranch house was reached she went at once to the small bed room near the kitchen. The door was open and the room was empty, but a neatly folded linen suit lay over a chair while the Panama hat reposed on the bed. Uncle Tex was gone to his cabin somewhere over in the mountains.

Sinking down on another chair, Virginia laughed merrily, but hearing someone tap upon the door, she sat up with suddenly resumed dignity, for she was still playing a part, but it was only her brother who entered.

CHAPTER IX—THE REVELATION.

“Virg,” Malcolm blurted out, “I feel that we are not doing right to treat a lonely orphan girl in this fashion. I am positive that I heard her crying in her room just now. I know it is premature, and not at all according to our plans, but I do wish you would go in and comfort her. Tell her the whole truth, Sis, and if she doesn’t want to stay with us, I’ll write back to that eastern seminary and see what can be done.”

Virginia looked at her brother with laughing eyes, but they quickly sobered as she said, “I agree with you, Malcolm. I believe that we have made a mistake. The truth is always best after all. Suppose you go to your room now and reappear just yourself.”

The lad went away whistling. Somehow, he felt happier than he had in many a day.

Virginia tapped lightly on the closed door of the big sunny southwest room to which she had taken their ward immediately upon their arrival at V. M. A half sob accompanied the words, barely heard by the listener. “Come in.”

On the bed Margaret had thrown herself in an abandon of grief. Virginia knelt by her side and said compassionately, “Margaret dear, don’t cry this way. Was it so very hard for you to come to us?”

“Ye-es. Next to losing father it was the hardest thing I ever had to face,” was the broken reply that came from the depths of a pillow. “But forgive me, if I seem ungrateful. Mr. Wallace has been telling me that Mr. Davis did not send for me from unkind motives, and so I have changed my mind. Tell him, please, that I am not going to be rebellious and that I’ll try to be cheerful and bring a little sunshine into his home. He must be a very lonely old man and he was kind to my father.”

Tears were brimming Virginia’s eyes. “Dearie,” she said, “lie here and rest for an hour, but when you hear the Chinese gong, come out to dinner. A pleasant surprise will be awaiting you. At least I hope that you will like it.”

“Thank you,” Margaret said without lifting her head from her pillow. She felt too dead inside to care about surprises. Nothing mattered if she had to remain on this desolate desert. The only surprise that could interest her would be the news that she might return to Vine Haven and to Babs.

However, the words of the housekeeper had soothed her more than she realized. Her sobbing soon ceased and she actually fell into a light slumber from which she awakened refreshed.

Rising, she washed away the tear stains and brushing her short gold-brown curls, she fastened them back with a wide barette.

Then she went out into the big, pleasant, homey living-room, but no one was there. Suddenly recalling the promised surprise, she was wondering what it would be, when a door, leading out upon a wide veranda, opened and a young girl entered followed by a tall, good-looking lad.

They approached the astonished ward and, Virginia, holding out both hands, said impulsively, “Margaret, can you ever forgive us for play actin’, as Uncle Tex called it. Your guardian isn’t an old man. He is my brother, Malcolm. I just don’t know how to go about explaining it,” she looked rather helplessly at the lad.

“I’ll do it, Sis,” he said. “Margaret, the truth is that you wrote such—such—” even Malcolm was at a loss how to tell the tale.

“Such horrid, disagreeable letters,” his ward put in, a dimple appearing as she smiled, “that you were sure you wouldn’t want to keep me. I don’t blame you a bit!” she declared vehemently. Then she surprised them both by impulsively kissing Virginia and saying:

“I just know that I’m going to be happy with you. It will be like having a sister, a really and truly one, won’t it?”

“Hum-m!” said Malcolm with mock seriousness, “You aren’t so pleased to have a really, truly brother it would seem.”

Then, when the girl flashed a smile at him, he added, “However I refuse to be your brother. I shall remain your stern guardian. Aren’t you skeered of me, as Uncle Tex says.”

The lad’s tanned face was so good-looking and pleasant, his grey eyes so frank and merry that his ward laughingly shook her head as she happily replied:

“I’m not skeered the least bit. I just know that I’m going to love you both.”

That evening the three young people sat around the fireplace and had a most delightful get-acquainted visit. Virginia told Margaret about the stage-fright which had caused Uncle Tex to depart with speed to the mountains.

“He won’t be back for a week, I’ll wager,” Malcolm laughingly declared.

Then Margaret asked: “Virginia, what did you expect me to look like?”

The other girl smiled but shook her head. “Don’t ask me,” she pleaded. “The picture in my imagination was so different from the real you, it would be a sacrilege to tell it.”

The dimple again appeared, but it was a somber Margaret who replied. “I don’t blame you for thinking me just horrid, but I did so want to remain at boarding school with Babs.” Then turning to Virginia she asked:

“Haven’t you ever had a yearning to go east to school?” Malcolm glanced quickly at his sister, who was gazing almost wistfully into the fire. It was a long moment before she replied, then she said:

“Yes, Margaret, I did want to go. In fact I had my trunk packed and was to have started the next day for a seminary in the East, just out of New York, when father was taken ill. How glad I am that I had not already departed, for no one thought dad’s illness would be serious and they would not have sent for me. He left us one week from that day.” Then placing a loving hand on the arm of her brother who sat near, she added, “Malcolm was planning to attend a military academy that winter, but when dad was gone, brother’s presence was needed here on the ranch and I just couldn’t go and leave him alone.”

Tears sprang to the eyes of Margaret. All her life she had been petted and pampered, as she had been an only child and so she had not learned the joy of that self-sacrifice which she now saw shining in the violet-blue eyes of her new friend.

Not wishing to sadden their ward, Virginia sprang up and poked at the fire. “Dance, little flames,” she said merrily, “and show our guest how prettily a mesquite root can burn.”

“Please don’t call me a guest,” Margaret begged impulsively. “I want to be home folks. It’s so long since I had a real home.” She had risen and had placed an arm about the western girl who still stood looking down at the fire. As Malcolm watched them, he thought that nowhere could two more lovely girls be found although they were very unlike each other.

The grandfather clock was soon telling the hour of nine, which was bed-time for the dwellers of V. M. Ranch. The lad rose and placed a wire screen in front of the fire as he said gaily: “Girls, don’t despair of getting an ‘iddication,’ as Uncle Tex calls it. Most anytime we may find a paying mine. I am convinced that there is one in these mountains, and when it is found, three trunks will be packed and we will all depart for the centers of learning.” Then, to Virginia, he added, “Margaret will want to sleep late, for I am sure that she is unusually tired after that long hard journey, and, just for the luxury of it, suppose you sleep too. I’ll get my own breakfast. I want to reach the Slater Ranch soon after sunrise to hand in my report about the cattle that I delivered in Chicago.”

Long after Margaret was in her comfortable bed, she lay awake wondering what life on the desert was to hold for her, but it was to be more interesting and exciting than even her wildest dreams could picture.

CHAPTER X—THE LOST BROTHER.

The next day was a happy one for Margaret and Virginia.

“Please give me some tasks to do that shall be my very own,” the newcomer pleaded when breakfast was over. Malcolm, true to his word, had long since departed.

“Oh, let’s just do everything together,” Virginia replied. “That’s more sociable. First, we will make the beds. I’ll spread one side and you the other, and while we’re doing them, let’s chatter like magpies. There are dozens of things I want to know about you. First, is this Babs about whom you tell, your very best friend?”

“Yes indeed. Her full name is Barbara Blair Wente, and, Virg, I do believe that you could put her in a thimble, most, and not have a single one of her sunny hairs show over the top, she’s that tiny. She has a brother, but she seldom mentions him. There is something very sad about him, but I don’t understand what exactly. Once, when I went to our room unexpectedly (that is, Babs thought I was in class, and I was, only I went back for a book), I found her crying as though her heart would break. In one hand she held a crumpled letter and in the other a picture of such a good-looking boy. Of course I begged her to tell me, that is, if I could help, but she said she just couldn’t tell the whole story. However, I gathered from fragments that her brother, Peyton, who is three years older than she, had displeased their rather stern father and had disappeared, no one knew where. ‘I love him so, Megsy,’ Babs sobbed, ‘much more than I do anyone on the whole earth now that mother is gone.’

“Just then a maid came to straighten our room, and never again could I get Babs to talk about her brother. ‘It hurts too much,’ she would tell me.

“The next day before I came away I asked: ‘Babsy, have you heard from Peyton yet?’ Tears rushed to her eyes and she shook her head. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘he thinks he has disgraced us all and he will never write, even to me.’”

“Poor girl,” Virginia said, with true sympathy as she led the way to Malcolm’s room. “I know how I would feel if my brother suddenly disappeared and I didn’t know where he was. I don’t believe I could stand it. In fact, I am sure I couldn’t. Did you ever see Peyton?”

“No, I didn’t,” Margaret replied, “but I am pretty sure that I have a snapshot of Babs that was taken years ago with her brother. When I unpack my trunk, I’ll look for it.”

“I wonder if Peyton came west. So many boys do when they run away,” Virginia said as she smoothed the top spread on Malcolm’s bed and placed the pillows at just the right angle.

“Babs thinks he went to sea,” Margaret told her. “Not that she has any reason for so thinking, but he was always wild about water, ever since the days when he sailed chip-vessels on a brook, Babs said.”

“Then that’s probably where he has gone. Poor, poor girl, my heart aches for her.”

Then, catching Margaret’s hand, Virginia added: “Megsy, you would just love to have our friend visit you out here some time, wouldn’t you? Please tell her, when you write, that she will be most welcome whenever she wishes to come.”

“Oh, Virginia, thank you!” Margaret hugged the taller girl. “I believe Babs would come some day. She has an income of her own. You would just love her, I know.”

Then, when the older girl departed kitchenward, leaving her new friend to dust the living-room, Margaret fell to happily dreaming of the day, which she hoped would soon materialize, when her beloved Babs would be a visitor on the V. M. Ranch.

CHAPTER XI—A LETTER TO BABS.

Margaret’s very own room in the ranch house was delightfully homey. Glass doors opened upon a wide veranda where a vine, which Virginia watered daily, was growing luxuriantly. Each spring it was covered with gay colored trumpet flowers.

A flood of sunshine was pouring in at the open window facing the southwest and fell upon a small desk at which Margaret was writing a long letter to Babs. When it was finished the girl sat looking out across the desert that was a shining sandy waste as far as she could see, with here and there a scraggly mesquite bush or towering above it, a thorny cactus. Lonely, desolate, those were the words that Margaret had repeatedly used in describing her dread of the desert before she had really seen it, but now in her soul there was slowly awakening an appreciation of the peace, the bigness and the grandeur of it all. How Babs would love it.

Margaret’s dreaming was suddenly interrupted by a most unearthly noise close to the house. Hurrying to the glass doors, the girl looked out and beheld three ungainly little creatures that resembled donkeys. Smilingly, she put her fingers in her ears when she saw that once again, all three had opened their mouths to bray in chorus. Margaret wondered why they seemed to be calling, and she was soon to learn, for she heard the living room door open and saw Virginia skip out on the veranda and feed a lump of sugar to each of the small mouse-colored creatures.

Margaret stepped out. “What queer pets you have, Virginia,” she said merrily.

“They are little wild burros,” the western girl told her. “They come often to beg for a lump of sugar, but their manner of serenading is not very musical. Have you finished your letter to Babs?” she added. “I have stayed away from your room for a long hour that you might not be interrupted.”

“Yes, I have finished it. Shall I read it to you?”

The two girls sat on the top step while Margaret read: “Dearest Babs, I’m so happy, so happy, you just can’t guess.” Then pausing, she glanced up brightly.

“Won’t that be a pleasant surprise to Babs, for, of course, she will expect my first letter to tell that I am melting away in tears.”

Then followed a description of the journey west, of the “play actin’,” as Uncle Tex called it, and of her joyous surprise when the middle-aged rancher and the housekeeper removed their disguises and were really a girl and a boy of about her own age.

“And Oh, Babs,” Margaret continued reading. “I know that you won’t be the least bit jealous when I tell you that I am going to put Virginia Davis in the same corner of my heart that you occupy. You will love her, too, when you meet her, and now, just listen to this wonderful bit of news. Virginia has told me to invite you to visit us whenever you can, and I am hoping that you will want to come for your summer vacation. Of course that is months away, but it’s such fun to plan. I’m going to write a volume of a letter to you every week and I shall expect one from you. Remember me to all of the girls at Vine Haven, and tell them that they need not pity me, after all, for I am having just a glorious time.”

Virginia moved closer and slipped an arm about her friend. “I am glad that you are able to write such a happy letter,” she said.

Margaret laughed. “Babs will be disappointed in one way, because as yet I have not had an exciting adventure to tell her. She thinks the West is full of them, just like moving pictures, you know.”

Virginia smiled. “Perhaps you will have an adventure to tell about in your next letter,” she said, little dreaming that she was speaking the truth.

CHAPTER XII—CHOOSING A PONY.

The next morning Virginia breakfasted at sunrise with her brother. Margaret, who was not accustomed to awakening at so early an hour, slept until she heard voices outside her window. Upon seeing Virginia and Malcolm walking toward the corral, she sprang up and dressed hastily.

The brother and sister were on the way to a fenced-in hollow, where a wiry desert grass grew abundantly, and where several ponies were quietly feeding.

“Which of the horses shall we give to Margaret for her very own?” Virginia asked as she leaned on a top rail and looked about.

“Can Margaret ride well?” Malcolm inquired.

“Oh, I am sure that she can,” Virginia replied, “because she belonged to an equestrian class at the fashionable boarding school that she attended and they went every Saturday for an afternoon canter.”

Malcolm looked a bit doubtful.

“Those Eastern horses are not like our little wild ponies,” he said. “Perhaps we ought to start Margaret with Tags.”

Virginia laughingly protested.

“Oh, brother, I wouldn’t ask Megsy to ride that stupid old horse. I am sure that Margaret could ride, well, say Star. I have ridden him several times, and next to my Comrade I think he is the prettiest pony that we have on the ranch.”

Just at that moment the brother and sister heard a merry hallooing, and, turning, they saw Margaret skipping toward them.

“Virginia,” she exclaimed reproachfully as she came up, quite out of breath, “why didn’t you waken me? I want always to get up when you do.”

“But it was before sunrise, and I know that you are not used to being up so early,” the other girl replied as she slipped an arm about the newcomer, who said enthusiastically:

“Oh Virg, what a pretty horse that red-brown one is. It looked up and neighed just as though it were trying to say ‘Good morning!’”

Virginia was about to explain that the graceful, alert little horse to which Margaret referred was her own dear Comrade that had been given her by her father when it was a colt, but, before she could speak, she heard Malcolm saying: “Sister and I were looking over the mounts just now trying to decide which one we would give to you for your very own.”

His ward turned toward him with eyes that glowed. “Oh, how kind you both are,” she exclaimed, appreciatively. “I would just love to have a pony all for my very own. May I choose any one that I wish?”

The eager glance was questioning Virginia, and unhesitatingly that maiden smiling replied, “Yes, indeed, you may Megsy.”

For a minute Margaret’s glance swept the pasture.

“I just love that red-brown pony,” she said at last, “It reminds me of the one I had when I was a little girl.” Then as a sudden thought came to her, she added, “but which is the one that you ride, Virg?”

The Western girl unhesitatingly replied: “I ride Star sometimes, the black and white wiry little fellow with the dark star on his forehead. You may have Comrade, if you like him best, to be your very own.”

Malcolm, knowing how dearly his sister loved the pony that their father had given to her, was about to protest, but Virginia motioned him to be silent, then aloud she added, “Brother, will you ask Slim to bring the two ponies to the ranch house at nine? I want to return Grandmother Slater’s bombazine dress, and I am sure that Margaret will enjoy a ride across the desert.”

Then arm in arm the two girls returned to the ranch house while the lad saddled his lively young broncho and rode away, waving his sombrero when they turned at the porch steps to watch him.

“Now shall I unpack my trunk?” Margaret smiled up happily. “I must find my riding habit.”

As she unpacked, Megsy kept watching for the kodak picture of Babs and her brother, Peyton, which she believed that she had tucked in somewhere but it was not discovered. “Well, it really doesn’t matter in the least,” the girl declared, as she smiled up at Virginia who sat on the ledge of the bed watching her. “I have a darling picture of Babs and we do not care what Peyton looks like.”

Then diving into the depths of her trunk, she brought out a book filled with kodak pictures, and sitting beside her friend, Margaret turned the pages and told the story of each one. They were so interested that they had quite forgotten the hour until Virginia heard the galloping of horses’ feet, and springing up, she exclaimed, “Why, Megsy, it is 9 o’clock and we aren’t ready for our ride.” Then she called out of the open window, “Thank you, Slim, for bringing up the horses. You may leave them there. We’ll be out in short order.” Then turning to Margaret, she added, “What are you going to wear, Megsy?”

The Eastern girl laughingly held up a black broadcloth riding habit with a long tailored coat and a stiff black derby. “This doesn’t look much like a cowgirl costume,” she said gaily. “How I do wish I had a khaki suit like yours.”