VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS

They were entering the door-yard where a cowboy advanced to take their ponies.

VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS

By GRACE MAY NORTH

Author of

“Virginia of V. M. Ranch,” “Virginia at Vine Haven,”
“Virginia’s Adventure Club,” “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

Copyright, 1924
By A. L. BURT COMPANY
VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS

Made in “U. S. A.”

VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS
CHAPTER I
HOME ONCE MORE

“Oh Virg, are we really to arrive at your desert home this morning?” Betsy Clossen exclaimed the first moment that she opened her eyes on the fifth day after their departure from the Vine Haven Boarding School.

“Not until nearly noon,” Virginia, who was dressing in the lower berth, smiled up at the eager face that peered down from the upper.

“And will your nice brother Malcolm be there to meet us, do you suppose?”

“I certainly hope so. I wired him from Chicago that we were to be on this train. If he can’t come himself, for any reason, he will surely send Lucky over with the car.”

“That’s one disillusioning thing about the desert,” Betsy continued. “I’m powerfully sorry that you have an automobile. It’s heaps too modern. I wish we were to be met with a—well a prairie schooner or something like that.”

Virg laughed. “I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed in us, Betsy. You’ll find V. M. really quite tame if you have been reading Wild West stories.” Then Margaret said quietly to her berth companion, “I do wish something exciting would happen the moment we arrive, don’t you, Virg?”

The older girl smiled but shook her sunny head. “No need to wish for that these days, dear. Life in Arizona is not nearly as thrilling as it is in the city of New York, if one can believe the newspapers.”

“Don’t tell Betsy, for if she thinks it is to be too commonplace, it will take all the thrill of expectancy out of it for her. You know she is never really enjoying herself unless there is a mystery to unravel or some adventure awaiting her.”

Fifteen minutes later the four girls were in the dining car.

Betsy beamed on her companions. The early morning sun falling on her red-brown hair made it shine like burnished gold.

“Even your freckles look gilded this morning,” Barbara teased.

The pug nose of the youngest wrinkled at her tormentor, then with an excited little squeal she exclaimed, “Oh, isn’t the desert just gloriously lonesome looking? Those mountains over there are so bleak and gray and the canons so dark! I can’t see a living thing anywhere, can you?”

Margaret, being questioned, peered out at the wide sandy waste of desert stretching to the distant mountains that rose grim, gray and forbidding. Here and there a clump of greasewood or of mesquite was half buried in mounds of sand that the frequent whirlwinds had left.

Betsy shivered. “Girls,” she said solemnly, “the very scene teems with mystery. I just feel sure that an exciting adventure is about to begin at most any moment. The setting is perfect for one. I’m going to watch that sandhill over there as long as it’s in sight. I expect to see a Mexican bandit peer around it and utter a shrill cry which will mean—”

“Do the young ladies wish oatmeal this morning?” It was the suave waiter who had interrupted, and although the girls gave their orders with solemn faces, they laughed merrily when they were again alone.

“It’s too bad to disappoint you, Betsy, but that’s about the way all of your hoped-for adventures will end,” Virginia told her friend.

The four girls, Virginia Davis, the seventeen-year-old mistress of V. M. Ranch and her adopted sister, Margaret Selover, who was sixteen, their neighbor, Barbara Blair Wente, also sixteen, and Virginia’s guest, Betsy Clossen, who as yet was but fifteen, had traveled from Vine Haven, where they had been attending boarding school for the past year.

Although the other three girls were well acquainted with the Arizona desert, Betsy Clossen had never been west of Chicago. However, she had often frequented that big city, as she had many others in the east, for her father was a famous detective who was often following clues that led him from Chicago to New York, and, at first, not wanting to be parted from his motherless little girl, he had taken her with him, but at last, believing that he was doing the child an injustice, he had placed her in the Vine Haven boarding school, where she had since remained, making friends of all whom she met. The years she had spent as her father’s close companion had given her an insight into the ways of unraveling mysteries and the game had fascinated her adventure-loving nature.

To the great amusement of the girls she was always trying to imagine a mystery that she might solve it, but in the past year she had twice failed while two of her comrades who had no such ambition had been successful, and so, no wonder was it that Betsy looked forward to the desert as a place where she would surely find a mystery to solve.

Virginia, who had been born on the V. M. Ranch, which was twenty miles from the town of Douglas, and who had lived there all her seventeen years, was indeed overjoyed because she was returning to the home she so loved, to her very dear brother Malcolm Davis and to old Uncle Tex, who, when he was younger, had been the foreman of V. M.

The father of Barbara Wente had recently purchased the Dartley Ranch which was four miles north of V. M. This he had given to his son Peyton. Barbara had learned that the old house was interesting, but she had never seen it as, with the other girls, she had left almost at once after the deal had been completed, for the school in the east.

“What do you think, Virg?” Babs chattered as the four girls with their hats on and their bags ready, sat peering ahead, “Peyton wrote in his very last letter that he hasn’t even opened the old ranch house yet. He is leaving it for us to do.”

“I adore old houses,” Betsy began, when Virginia exclaimed as she pointed out the windows. “See that dark hole in the mountain just ahead of us?” The others leaned forward to look.

“Oh, good!” Margaret exclaimed. “It’s the last tunnel, and Silver Creek station is just beyond.” Megsy turned toward her adopted sister, a flushed eagerness betraying the excitement she felt. “Just think, Virg, in ten minutes we are to see Malcolm.”

Betsy uttered a little excited squeal as the train plunged into the darkness of the tunnel.

“Virg, isn’t this a thrilling moment,” Barbara whispered, “not being sure who is to be at the other end?”

Sunlight again flashed into the car windows. Virginia stooped and looked out. “There’s the little old station that’s the only house for miles and miles around, but I don’t see anyone on the platform except the old man who lives there. Wonder what has happened?”

Mr. Wells, the Silver Creek station master, hurried forward when he saw that the limited was slowing down. It never stopped unless it had passengers. When the four girls alighted, the tallest placed her bags on the platform and went toward the weather-tanned middle aged man with hands outstretched. “Oh, Mr. Wells,” she exclaimed, and her voice betrayed her anxiety, “why isn’t my brother here to meet me, or Uncle Tex or one of the boys? I sent them a telegram. Didn’t you get it?”

The small boy, Davie, who had a front tooth missing, had come running up from somewhere. “Yes’m, Miss Virginia,” he said breathlessly, “I took the telegram over to V. M. two days ago jest as soon as Pa give it to me. Mis’ Mahoy was all the folks I could find. The men was out riding the range. She said they seemed to be huntin’ for something. She didn’t know what, but they acted mighty puzzlin’. Uncle Tex, though, he was ’spected back that night or the next.”

The girls had gathered around, listening, when suddenly the boy, who felt very important, as he was the center of attention, suddenly leaped across the platform and looked toward the north. “Pa,” he shouted, “see that dust cloud a-comin’? D’y ’spose it’s a stampede or suthin’? D’y ’spose—”

“I do believe it’s our automobile.” Virginia shaded her eyes to gaze through the dazzling sunshine. It was indeed, but it was approaching in such a zig-zag manner that even Mr. Wells was puzzled.

“I reckon the fellar at the steerin’ gear is plumb beat out. I figger that thar car’s sort o’ runnin’ itself,” he speculated.

The watchers were convinced that this was true for as the cloud of sand cleared away, they could see the big seven passenger car that belonged to the V. M. Ranch, but the driver was neither Lucky nor Malcolm.

“It can’t be Uncle Tex, for he doesn’t know how to drive,” Virginia had just said, when Margaret exclaimed, “But it is Uncle Tex, and he certainly doesn’t know how to drive. Oh, Virg, did you see the lunge he took just then? I do believe he is going right over the tracks and down into the dry creek instead of coming this way.”

“Mighty-tighty!” The station master’s favorite expletive expressed his consternation. “Cain’t nuthin’ be done to head him off? I dunno a tarnel thing about them pesky iron-bronchos.”

Virginia had caught one glance of the driver’s face as the front wheel had struck a hummock of sand, causing the car to swerve. If it should cross the tracks, it would plunge over the steep bank and crash down among the huge rocks on the bed of the dry creek.

Leaping from the platform Virginia shouted, “Uncle Tex, stop the car!”

Luckily it had slowed considerably since the sand, through which it was ploughing, was deep and soft. Virginia sprang upon the running board, leaned over and shut off the gas.

“Uncle Tex,” she cried, “why did you risk your life that way?” The old man removed his sombrero and was mopping his brow. “I dunno, Miss Virginia, dearie, I foresee, now, I orter not have done it, but it allays looked plumb easy, and when thar wan’t no one else to come an’ meet yo’ all, I jest figgered as I’d take a chance.”

The girl got in the car and skillfully brought it alongside the platform. Then, leaping out, she began stowing the bags in back, while Margaret and Babs welcomed the old man, who found, when he tried to stand that his knees were “plumb beat out.” Betsy was introduced, then Virginia asked, “Why didn’t Malcolm come?”

Uncle Tex looked quickly around to be sure that Mr. Wells was out of hearing, then he said softly, “I cain’t be tellin’ ye, least-wise, not here, Miss Virginia, dearie. Malcolm said, ‘Keep it dark.’ He’s all right, though. You needn’t be fearin’ as to that.”

Betsy had heard enough of this conversation to be tingling with curiosity and excitement. It certainly did sound to her as though there was both mystery and adventure awaiting them, nor was she wrong.

CHAPTER II
HUNTING THE SURPRISE

With Virginia at the wheel, the seven passenger car kept on the well-beaten road that extended from the Silver Creek Junction to the V. M. Ranch.

Uncle Tex sat beside the girl whom he so loved and the three on the rear seat often sent smiling glances, one to another, as they noticed his pride in his “gal’s” skillful driving.

“Seems powerful pleasin’ to have yo-all back, Miss Virginia dearie,” the old man said as the car began the ascent of the mesa road.

The girl at the wheel flashed him a bright smile. “Oh, but it’s good to be home. I can hardly wait to reach the top of the trail.” Then glancing back over her shoulder, she called “Betsy, in just another moment you are to behold the nicest spot on earth, or, at least, it is to me.” Then chancing to recall something, she inquired “Uncle Tex, I’m just ever so curious to know what the surprise is that you have for me. May I have three guesses?”

She and Malcolm as children had always had three guesses whenever the old man had brought them a treasure from out on the range. Then, when they had guessed, they searched through his many pockets to find it. The weather-tanned face wrinkled in an amused smile. “I reckon ’twould take more’n three guesses, Miss Virginia, this time, I reckon ’twould, an’ even then, ’twon’t be found in my pocket nowise.”

“Oho, that’s a hint. It’s something big!” Then over her shoulder. “Girls, help guess. Megsy, you and Babs have lived with me at V. M., so you might perhaps, think what Uncle Tex has planned for my surprise.”

“Maybe it’s a new hen-corral,” Margaret suggested. “I remember one twilight last year when I went out to get the eggs, and found a coyote in the hen house, Uncle Tex said the very first thing he was going to do after we left was to build stronger fences.”

The pleased grin on the old man’s face was evident even to the girls on the back seat. “Ah was messin’ round fixin’ that fence long fore yo-all’s train hit the big city, I reckon, but that guess missed the heifer, so coil yer rope and throw again.”

Betsy chuckled. She was delighted with the old man, not only because he was such an interesting character but also because he was lovable.

“Hm’ let me see!” Babs pretended to think hard. “I recall now that Virginia wished she had a pond near the wind mill so that she might keep ducks.”

“Oh, but Uncle Tex wrote me that he had made a duck pond for me just as soon as spring rains were over, so that can’t be it.”

The old man’s head was shaking. “Yo-all ain’t teched it yet,” he was saying, when Virg uttered a little cry of joy. “Look ahead, Betsy, quick, if you want to get the very first glimpse of V. M.”

The little maid on the back seat stood up and peered between the two in front as the car reached the edge of the plateau nearest the ranch.

There in the valley was the big rambling low-built adobe house, beyond it were the bunk houses, the hen yard, the wrangling corral, the pens for the cattle that needed temporary sheltering, the small adobe house nearer the dry creek bottom in which lived the Mahoys, and towering above them all was the huge red windmill, the great wings of which were slowly turning in the gentle breeze that was blowing from the west.

There in the valley was the big rambling low-built adobe house.

While the little stranger’s glance roamed from one of these buildings to another, Virginia’s violet eyes were eagerly searching the trails leading to the ranch, hoping that on one of them she might see her brother returning from the mysterious errand about which Uncle Tex had hinted and the nature of which as yet she did not know. There was no one in sight. Not wishing her companions to know how truly anxious she was, Virg stopped the car and turned with a bright smile to exclaim: “Girls, welcome to my home.”

Betsy was charmed with the inside of the ranch house as she had been with the out. The great living room, with its wide fireplace on which a mesquite root burned slowly, suggested cosy evenings spent around it.

The long library table scattered over with books and magazines, the student lamp with its wide warm-colored shade, many comfortable arm chairs, a piano and its companioning music box, bear skin rugs on floor and wall, and pictures framed by the windows, of desert, sand hill and distant mountains, furnished the most home-like room that little Betsy had ever seen.

“I’m going to just love it here,” she said, then to tease, she merrily added, “if you can provide me with a mystery.”

Virginia laughed. “Girls,” she turned to the other two, “since we three are hostesses, and it is our aim to please, let’s make up a mystery, but there, I musn’t tell Betsy what it is to be. In fact I haven’t thought it out yet. But come, let’s take our bags to our rooms for Uncle Tex is waiting to show us the surprise.”

The two large, sun-flooded bedrooms were next each other with a door opening between.

Margaret and Virginia were to share the room which Virg had occupied since her childhood, while Babs and Betsy were to have the other for their very own.

“I can hardly wait until our trunks come,” Babs prattled. “I am just wild to see myself in my new cow-girl costume.”

“You looked at yourself times enough in the school mirror,” Megsy said to tease.

“Perhaps, but the setting wasn’t right. It will look quite different out here where the mesquite bushes grow,” Babs retorted.

“I came so unexpected like,” Betsy deplored. “I didn’t have time to buy me a khaki outfit, so what shall I do. I don’t want to look like a tenderfoot.”

“As though you could help it, whatever you wore!” Babs began, on mischief-bent, but Virg solaced. “I’ll loan you one of mine that I have outgrown. You won’t have to buy one just for the month that you are with us.” But the little maid declared eagerly, “Oh yes, I will, Virg, if there is a place to buy it. I’d love to wear it at my aunt’s summer home in the east and make the boys envious.”

Uncle Tex was seen coming slowly up from the garage, and Virg knew that he was eager to show them what he had planned as a surprise.

Catching Betsy and Babs by the hand and nodding a merry invitation to Margaret, Virg led the way out of the wide front doors, but, before she had gone many steps from the veranda, a big shaggy creature hurled itself at her from the trail leading from the cabin of the Mahoys.

“Goodness!” Betsy cried in alarm, “Is it a desert wolf or a coyote?” She needed no answer, for the creature, wagging itself for joy sprang upon its beloved mistress and uttered queer little yelps of delight.

“Shags is plumb nigh as pleased to see yo-all, Miss Virginia dearie, seems like, as yo’ old Uncle Tex was, though I reckon, he cain’t be, quite.”

A glance in the direction from which the dog had come revealed the Mahoy family awaiting in front of their small adobe house to share in the welcome, so, excusing herself, Virg ran down the trail, Shags at her heels barking his glee. Mrs. Mahoy had a new baby in her arms and Virginia beckoned the other girls to come and see it.

“Ain’t she nice though?” It was Patsy, now aged ten, who looked about at the group of girls who were eagerly peering into a flannel bundle to find the wee bit baby. Virginia glowed. “Uncle Tex,” she cried turning toward the old man who had ambled after them. “I do believe this little baby is the surprise that you said we would find on V. M. Ranch.”

“Wall, I reckon ’twas one of ’em,” he confessed, “but thar’s another, Miss Virginia, dearie. Spose yo-all scatter now and see who’ll be furst to find it.”

Then away the girls ran. Margaret led them to the hen-house, so eager was she to be sure that the fences were coyote-proof. They were indeed, for the wire fence extended so far underground that none of the desert creatures would take the time to burrow beneath it so near a residence of the enemy man. Too there was a roof of wire netting over the small yard, which protected the feathered brood from any of the vulturous birds of prey.

“That certainly is improvement number one,” Virginia cried in delight. “Many a time I have been heart-broken entirely because some of my little new chicks have been carried away by pirate birds.” They were leaving, when Megsy caught Virg’s arm as she squealed gleefully, “I do believe that I’ve discovered the surprise. Hark! Don’t you hear a faint peeping somewhere?”

Virginia listened and then, noting that their escort’s grin was broadening, if that were possible, she exclaimed, “Oh Uncle Tex, are there really some baby chicks? Where are they? Please show them to us?”

The chicken yard gate was opened and the old man led them to the sunny side of the hen house where, from between the bars of a barrel coop, the yellow head of an anxious mother protruded as she clucked a warning to fifteen balls of fluff that ran to her, tumbling on the way and piping their fright.

“Oh, the dear little things! Please let them stay a moment, Biddy Mother,” Margaret implored. “I want to hold just one.”

The one that was lifted ever so tenderly, begged so pitifully to be set free, that Megsy put it down close to the coop and smiled to watch it scud for the shelter of its mother’s wings.

“Lucky little puff-ball!” Betsy said with a note of sadness in her usually merry voice. “What wouldn’t I give to have a mother to run to.” Uncle Tex, who had remained outside, happened to call just then. “Better be hurryin’, Miss Virginia dearie. Pears like its mos’ lunch time as yo-all names it.”

Virginia glanced at her wrist watch. “True enough,” she exclaimed “and now that I am home, Uncle Tex, you are to have a long vacation from the kitchen. We girls will do all the cooking and brewing and mopping and scrubbing and—” but the old man, shaking his head, interrupted—

“Wall, I reckon yo-all won’t have time to do much playin’ if yer scheming that-a-way.”

All unconsciously Virginia sighed. How she did wish that the faithful Chinaman, who had been cook in her home since she was a baby, had not, the year before, decided to revisit the land of his birth. He had slipped away without giving notice, (although he had told them months before that he was going, sometime), and he had never returned.

As they crossed the descending trail that led to the towering red windmill, Virg glanced at the old man, and silently renewed her resolve to relieve him of much of the kitchen work, which had been his self-assumed task. They had tried Mexican cooks, Malcolm had written her, but Uncle Tex had fretted through the brief stay of each one, and had at last declared that he didn’t want any more “cholos” messin’ round Miss Virginia’s kitchen, “spatterin’ it up,” and that he’d take “keer” of it fer her himself, but Virg knew how, during those long months of faithful service, his big heart had yearned for the freedom of the range. “I’ll show him how much I appreciate what he has done to make the home pleasant for my brother while I was gone,” the girl had just decided when a cry from Betsy and Babs, who had skipped on ahead attracted her attention. They were standing near the windmill beckoning excitedly. “I do believe they have found the surprise,” Virg confided to Margaret, then she glanced inquiringly at the old man, but his beaming expression revealed nothing.

A moment later the something was revealed.

“Oh Uncle Tex, how pretty! Did you make that all alone and for me?” Virginia’s delight was indeed real and she was convinced, as were the other girls, that at last they had found the surprise about which Uncle Tex had written. Beyond the windmill and in the warm shelter of its wide walls stood a little garden house over which a blossoming vine was growing. Within was a table and four comfortable chairs that had been entirely made of yucca stalks and had been skillfully fashioned with infinite patience by the leathery, wrinkled hands of the old cattleman.

The garden house itself was made of yucca, the stalks being so long and strong that Virginia knew, to procure them, the old man had to visit a distant part of the desert where they grew.

Just below the door of this summer house was the pond of which Uncle Tex had written, and on it several ducks were lazily swimming.

“There’s water enough for a garden, Miss Virginia dearie, but Ah reckon’d as yo-all’d want to set out the sort of flowers yo’d like best.” Then, as Virginia had not spoken, he asked, almost wistfully. “Yo-all likes it, don’t yo’, Miss Virginia dearie?”

There were tears in the violet eyes that turned toward him. “Like it! Oh, Uncle Tex!” Her arms were about him and her soft young cheek was pressed close to his leathery one. “I was just hoping mother might know. She used so often to wish since there are no shade trees near that we might have a cool, sheltered out-of-doors place where we could take our books and sewing.”

Then, fearing that the tender-hearted old man would regret not having thought to make such a summer house in the long ago, she exclaimed merrily, “This very day at four, we will serve afternoon tea, and you, Uncle Tex, shall be the guest of honor.” Then, giving the again smiling old man a sudden bear hug, she whispered in his ear, “You dear, I’m going to think up the nicest kind of a surprise and spring it on you—some day.”

“When’s your birthday, Uncle Tex?” It was Margaret who asked. The old man looked truly startled. “Me? Why, Ah’s plumb forgot. Sorto seems like it comes in the summer, though.” He had removed his sombrero and was scratching one ear meditatively. He seemed actually to be trying to recall a forgotten date.

“I’ll tell you what,” Babs sang out, “let’s pick out a day before Betsy goes home and give Uncle Tex a surprise party.”

“It won’t be much of a surprise, since you are telling him about it,” Margaret began, but Barbara declared that it would be, since he wouldn’t know, until he received the invitation, which day had been chosen.

They were walking toward the house as they chatted. Virginia and the old man lingered back of the others. Margaret had made this possible, for she felt sure that her adopted sister was anxious about Malcolm’s prolonged absence, and, for that matter, she was herself, and surely she had a right to be, since she was his ward.

Virg had often glanced at the trails that led one of them toward the sand hills, another toward Seven Peak Range, and a third toward Puffed Snake Water Hole, but on none of them did horsemen appear.

“Uncle Tex,” she said softly as she slipped a detaining arm in that of her companion, “can’t you tell me why Malcolm is away at this time? It must be something of a very serious nature to keep him from home when he knew that I would be arriving this week.”

There was a shade of anxiety on the face of the old man. “’Tis, Miss Virginia dearie. Leastwise, Ah reckon ’tis. It all happened hurried like. Lucky came ridin’ in ’long ’bout sundown two nights ago. ‘Ah’ve hit the trail sure sartin,’ was all Ah heard him say. Then Malcolm buckled on his gun belt. ‘Keep it dark which way we ride,’ he says to me, then they was gone. Ah was plumb puzzled and Ah sure am still, but on certain thought Malcolm’d be comin’ back by now or sendin’ word, knowin’ as yo-all was ’spected.”

“Well, I’ll not worry,” the girl said wisely. “Malcolm never runs into trouble needlessly.” Then, as they had overtaken the others, Virginia called as gaily as she could, that her guests need not know of her anxiety. “Who wants to be helper in the kitchen this noon? I’m going thither to be chief cook.”

“Oh, can’t we all help?” Margaret hurried to inquire. Then she nudged Virg and nodded toward the old man who (trying to keep behind them) was making frantic motions towards a kitchen window. When Virginia turned, he attempted to assume such an innocent expression that the girls were even more puzzled.

Virg pretending not to have seen his gestures, caught his hardened hand as she leaped up on the veranda, calling, “Uncle Tex, you come too, and be my advisor. It’s so long since I have cooked, maybe I have forgotten how.”

Virginia felt sure that another of the old man’s surprises awaited her in the kitchen, nor was she wrong.

CHAPTER III
MALCOLM’S RETURN

It was four in the afternoon and the girls, having had a long siesta after their lunch, had donned their muslin dresses (for the station master had arrived soon after noon with their trunks), and, taking Barbara’s cherished tea set, without which she never traveled, they had hied them to the summer house. Virg gathered a few of the scarlet blossoms that grew wild after the rains. Nearly all of them dried up but one clump had remained to welcome the girls. These she placed on the yucca table. Margaret was carrying a plate of small cakes. Betsy had a tray on which were five cups and saucers and tiny spoons. Babs, at the end of the line, held the fragile pot of delicate blue which was brimming with weak but hot tea.

Virg stood back to admire the table when it was set. Then laughingly she exclaimed: “I just can’t get over it. I never was more surprised in all my life. When I opened the kitchen door and saw that dear old Sing Long fussing around the stove, as though he weren’t expecting us, I just had to rush up and hug him.”

“Whizzle, but you certainly took the wind out of my sails, as Cousin Bob says,” Betsy declared, “I’ve always been scared of Chinamen and to see you actually embracing one! I dunno as I’ll ever recover from the shock.”

“I don’t believe there’s a kinder, nobler, more faithful race of people on this earth,” Margaret championed, “and Sing Long is just like home folks to Virginia, isn’t he Virg?”

The shining-eyed girl nodded. “He surely is. Why, Betsy, Sing was here before mother came as a bride. I’m so glad he wanted to come back. I wouldn’t have Uncle Tex know it, not for worlds, but I was rather dreading the responsibility of cooking for so many people, and now we won’t have anything to do, but plan—”

“Mysteries,” Betsy cut in. Then she asked: “Virg, I may be slow as a detective, but I certainly do think the way you keep looking in first one direction and then another is most mysterious.”

The young hostess sat down in one of the comfortable yucca chairs. “Have you noticed it?” she inquired, “Well, then, I’ll explain. I’m not really worried, but I’ll confess I am puzzled.”

She then told the other three girls all that Uncle Tex knew of her brother’s sudden departure two nights before.

Megsy smiled and nodded toward the little stranger-to-the-desert, for, with a brow supposedly wrinkled in deep thought, she sat gazing across the shining stretch of sand toward the mountains.

“What do you make of it, Mistress Detective?” Babs asked merrily.

“I don’t,” was the frank answer. “Virg, what do you?”

“Well,” the oldest girl replied, “since Lucky rode in, after nightfall, in such haste and told brother that he was sure he had hit the trail, I conclude that there had been a—”

“Oh, do you think it was a holdup, or something like that?” This from the eager Betsy.

“No, I don’t. I think a mountain lion may have been killing the young calves and that Lucky and Slim have been trying to trail it.”

“How disappointing! I’m not at all interested in solving a mystery which has only a mountain lion in the leading part.”

Babs teased. “I’ll say you aren’t. You wouldn’t want to start on any clues that would lead you to a lion’s den.”

“Girls,” Virg suddenly exclaimed, “our guest of honor has forgotten to come. There he goes riding along the creek bottom, so we’ll have to drink the tea, for, if we don’t, it will soon be cold.”

“Oh dear, that is too bad! It’s piping hot now and this pot holds six cups. Can’t we find another guest of honor to—”

“Lookee! Lookee!” Betsy had leaped to her feet and was pointing toward the trail that led from the sandhills.

Two horsemen were approaching at a gallop, and Virginia cried, “Oh, how I hope one of them is Brother Malcolm.”

“Then the mystery will be solved,” Betsy exclaimed joyfully.

As the horsemen neared, Virg and Margaret ran out of the summer house and waved their handkerchiefs for they were no longer in doubt as to the identity of the newcomers.

There was an answering shout of joy from the one in the lead and Malcolm leaped from his horse and ran toward them waving his sombrero. The older cowboy led the ponies to the corral.

“O brother, brother,” Virginia’s welcome was at once laughing and tearful, as she was caught in the lad’s strong arms. “I’m glad, glad I went away just for the joy of knowing what home means. Not that I didn’t always love it here, but Oh, brother, you can’t guess how many wakeful hours I had just hungering to hear your voice, and now, if you’ll let me I’m going to stay right here for ever and ever and ever.”

The giant of a lad laughed happily as he turned to greet his ward, who, with flushed cheeks and a wistful light in her tender brown eyes, was waiting near until the brother and sister had welcomed each other. Then Babs came and Betsy was introduced. “This is our would-be young detective,” Virg said merrily. “She declares that the desert is an ideal setting for a mystery and so we girls are going to make up one and let her solve it.”

“You won’t have to invent one,” Malcolm declared as he dropped into the yucca chair toward which his sister had led him. “Lucky and I have been awake two days and nights trying to solve one that is very real. Slim is working on it, too, but he has a Mexican boy with him and they have ridden toward Sonora.”

“Oh Mr. Davis!” Betsy leaned forward eagerly. “What are the clews? Do tell us.”

But Virginia said: “Not until brother has had some refreshment.” Then to Malcolm: “I don’t suppose you’ve had a thing to eat this noon.”

“Righto, and for that matter Lucky and I had very little for breakfast. We had no idea that we would find ourselves on a blind trail,” the lad began; then ended with:

“So a cup of tea will do well for a starter.” He accepted the delicate blue cup that Barbara handed him with an amused smile.

Lucky was approaching shyly, sombrero in hand. Virginia, chancing to see him, stepped out of the summer house and beckoned to him.

His awkward bow when he was introduced would have amused Betsy at another time, but just then her entire thought was given to the mystery about which she was soon to hear.

“No, ma’am, thanks.” Lucky twirled his hat and shifted from one foot to the other when Barbara offered him one of the eggshell china cups. “Ah jest wanted to say howdy to yo-all.” He was visibly embarrassed. Then with a nod toward the house he added, “Sing said frijoli all hottee.”

Malcolm rose. “Young ladies,” he addressed them all, “if you will permit us to satisfy our inner cravings, I’ll promise within the hour to tell you all the clews we have been able to discover.”

Lucky had gone on ahead and Virginia, linking her arm in that of her brother, walked with him toward the house.

“Can’t you give me an inkling of an idea as to what it is all about? Is it anything we girls can help solve?”

The lad was at once serious. “No, sister. You girls are better off here at home with Uncle Tex, but we’ll report progress each time we return.”

Virginia looked troubled. “Oh brother, are you going away again? Surely not today.”

“Not until morning,” he replied. “We’ll both be better fit after a good night’s sleep.” Then at the kitchen porch, she left him and walked slowly back to the summer house. The three girls eagerly awaited her.

“Did Malcolm tell you the clews?” Of course this was from Betsy. “Why, no,” Virginia declared. “I was so concerned about my brother that I forgot to ask him where he had been or why.” Then Margaret had an inspiration.

“It’s after five by my little wrist watch and so I suggest that we put away the tea things and have our supper of nice frijolies and bread in the kitchen with the boys. They can tell us the clews while we’re eating, for I am sure they will want to tumble into bed as soon as they can.”

Virginia looked at her other guests to see if the plan met with their approval. She was not long left in doubt. “Oh, goodie, I’d love to have supper with a real cowboy. My Cousin Bob will be green with envy when I write him about it.” Betsy was gathering up the spoons as she spoke. Soon the little procession approached the house.

Malcolm saw them coming and smiled. “I tell you, Lucky, it seems mighty nice to see that sister of mine once more. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I hope she won’t want to go away again.”

Lucky, having finished his supper, rose as the girls entered the long kitchen that was flooded with the late afternoon sun.

The middle aged cowboy spoke apologetically: “Miss Virginia, if yo-all will excuse me, Ah’ll turn in. Ah reckon Ah cain’t keep awake, an’ Malcolm here and me’s figgerin’ on hittin’ the trail again come sunup.”

When he was gone, Sing Long served the girls to heaping plates of steaming frijolies, generous slices of cornbread and tumblers brimming with creamy milk. This fare greatly delighted Betsy for it was very different from that to which she was accustomed.

Malcolm told Sing Long that he, too, might go, as they no longer needed him. When they were alone, the giant of a lad smiled about at the girls, who were eagerly awaiting the beginning of his story.

“Now,” Virginia said when the door closed behind the Chinaman, “what happened first?”

“We heard about it last Monday,” Malcolm began, “Lucky and I were loping slowly along down near the station. We were on the outlook for strays when we saw little Davie Wells riding toward his home from the direction of the Three Sand Hills as though a stampede of cattle was about to overtake him.”

“‘What’s up with the kid, d’ye reckon,’ Lucky asked me, and I replied, ‘By the way he keeps looking back over his shoulder, you’d think he was being pursued, but I don’t see anything chasing him.’

“When the lad was near enough for us to see his face, we knew, without his telling us, that he was very much excited about something.

“‘Hi-o! Davie, has there been a train robbery?’ I shouted when he was near enough to hear. He evidently had not seen us, but upon hearing my voice, he wheeled his pony and galloped toward us. I repeated my question.

“‘Nope,’ he replied breathlessly. ‘Leastwise there ain’t been one yet, but Pa says sure as a cactus ain’t a mesquite thar’ll be a robbery in these here parts afore sunup tomorrow, Pa says it’s sure sartin.’

“Of course we were interested. We never knew our respected station master to prophesy anything but that it came to pass with almost uncanny accuracy, so Lucky and I drew rein and listened to what the little fellow had to tell, but when we had heard him out, all we could make of it was that a queer kind of caravan had been seen leaving Douglas early that morning headed toward Silver Creek. Davie thought maybe there were half a dozen covered wagons and a dozen mules and dogs, but he wasn’t certain. The cowboy who’d seen the outfit hadn’t stopped to count them.

“‘Gypsies, I reckon,’ was Lucky’s conclusion, ‘and if so, kid, your pa’s right. Thar’ll be some stealin’ ’fore sunup sure sartin.’ Then he looked at me with a puzzled expression as he said, ‘Malcolm, I never heard tell of gypsies trailin’ across the desert hereabouts, have you now?’

“I agreed that I had not, but the lad’s description seemed to fit and so we let it go at that.

“‘Wall, I must be off.’ Davie seemed suddenly to remember his former haste but I detained him long enough to ask, ‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’

“‘Over to Slater’s to warn ’em ‘bout that robbery as Pa says it’s sure sartin.’

“Davie’s little wild pony needed no urging and a second later all we could see of him was a racing sand cloud. I laughed, but Lucky seemed to take the matter more seriously. ‘What do you make of it?’ I asked when I had let him study on the matter in silence for several moments.

“‘Ah jest don’t,’ he replied. ‘Ah cain’t figure nohow why a caravan of gypsies ’d start across this here trackless part of the desert.’

“‘It isn’t as trackless as it used to be,’ I reminded him, ‘for now that all the ranchers own automobiles there’s a makeshift sort of a road from one place to the next.’

“‘Mebbe so, but Ah cain’t figger out why gypsies would go to all the trouble of draggin that there caravan o’ theirs through the sand jest to be robbin’ ranches. They couldn’t make fast enough time to get away with it. More’n likely, if they was gypsies, they-all thought as how this might be a short cut to some place up north where they’re bound for.’

“I agreed that Lucky’s version was probably the correct one, and, as we saw no evidence of the reported caravan in our neighborhood, I doubtless would never have thought of them again if it hadn’t been for something which happened that very night.”

Malcolm paused and the girls, having ceased eating to listen, leaned forward with renewed interest.

“Oh, brother, what happened? Please don’t stop there.”

The lad smiled. “I only stopped to take a breath. That is permissible, isn’t it?”

“Oh-ee! I’m so excited.” Betsy’s flushed cheeks and glowing eyes were evidence that what she said was true. “Did the gypsy caravan come?”

“Was the station master’s prophecy correct?” Margaret asked.

“Were we robbed?” Virginia inquired anxiously.

Malcolm rose. “Let’s go in by the fire,” he said. “Sing Long wants to clean the table.” The Chinaman had been opening the door from his room every few moments to see if the young people were through. Following Malcolm’s suggestion the girls led the way into the big living room. The lad put a dry mesquite root on the coals and then sat down in his favorite grandfather chair. “Yes, indeed, something of an unusual nature happened that night and this is what it was:”

CHAPTER IV
MALCOLM’S STORY

When the girls were seated about the fireplace, they turned eagerly to the narrator of the tale which had been interrupted by their moving from the kitchen to the living-room.

“Let me see,” the lad was purposely tantalizing, “where did I end the first chapter?” Then, before he could be prompted, he continued: “Oh, yes; I remember.

“After Davie Wells had left us, Lucky suggested that we ride over to the Three Sand Hills. He wanted to climb to the top of the highest one and take observations, so to speak, of the entire surrounding country. It’s a hard climb, because of the sliding stones and sand, but we made it and held to the giant yucca up there, while, with shaded eyes we looked in every direction. It was an unusually clear day and every object stood out as though it were magnified, but not a sign of a gypsy wagon did we see. Lucky did make out a sand cloud way to the north, but it wasn’t large enough to hold a caravan. Lucky believed it to be made by a small herd of cattle trailing toward Puffed Snake Water Hole.

“It was dusk when we entered the ranch house, and Sing Long was the only person at home. He had been baking all the afternoon in the kitchen, and had neither seen nor heard anyone passing. We did not tell him that we had been informed that a gypsy caravan, made up of at least six covered wagons, had been seen leaving Douglas and heading our way. We had decided that there really was nothing in the report, and Sing Long was inclined to be imaginative.

“After supper Lucky and I sat for a time in front of the fireplace. I was reading, and, though Lucky held a newspaper and stared at it as though he were deeply engrossed in some item of Douglas news, he was evidently thinking all the time of what we had heard that afternoon. His first remark proved this.

“Suddenly he sat up very straight and seemed to be listening. ‘Did you hear it?’ he asked. ‘A sort of a rattling noise?’

“I put down my book and listened. I heard nothing and I told him so. ‘That is nothing, except the bellowing of the prize yearlings that we had driven into the corral the day before.’ It did seem as though they were making more noise than they had during the day.

“‘Wall, I reckon that’s only natural,’ Lucky tried to reassure himself by sayin’. ‘They’re restless, them young steers air, being shet in arter allays havin’ had the freedom of the range.’ He returned to his newspaper and I to my book, but before many minutes I was conscious of the fact that my companion was again listening intently. I laughed. ‘Lucky,’ I remonstrated, ‘aren’t you imaginative tonight? Surely you are not expecting a visit from Davie’s Gypsy caravan, are you? That would be utterly impossible, since only two hours ago you saw for yourself, when we were on the top of Yucca Hill, that there was nothing of the kind for many miles around.’

“‘Wall, I call’ate Ah am sort of skeerful. Truth is Ah never did like them Gypsy folk. Ran into ’em once when Ah was a little shaver, down in Texas, and Ah’ve given ’em a wide berth ever since.’ Then he rose, saying, as he yawned and stretched: ‘Wall, sort o’ guess Ah’ll turn in. Ah reckon Slim’s back from the border, or soon will be. Ah’ll take one more look at the corral an’ see if them gates are still barred.’

“‘All right, Lucky. S’long.’ Then I couldn’t resist teasing. ‘But don’t stay awake all night listening for tambourines.’

“After he was gone, I became so interested in my book that I sat up much later than usual. When I did decide to turn in, I first of all stepped out on the front porch and looked around.

“The bunk house was dark and there wasn’t a light anywhere on the desert. I was sure that if Gypsies were camped nearby they would have a night fire to protect them from wild animals and keep away insects.

“The prize yearlings in the corral were quieter, although every now and then one would start a restless lowing which would awaken a few others. Then a moment later, all would be silent.

“They’re safe enough,” I thought as I turned in and went to bed.

“I didn’t awaken until dawn, and then it was to slowly come to the consciousness that someone was pounding on my door. I can’t remember when I had ever locked it before.

“‘Who’s there?’ I called, leaping half dazed from bed.

“It was Lucky who answered, and, in his voice I sensed tragedy.

“‘It’s me, Malcolm! The prize yearlings! They’re plumb gone!’

“Of course I was into my clothes before I was hardly awake, nor did I fully grasp the meaning of what I had heard until I had flung open the door and had beheld Lucky’s face, white in spite of the tan which has been deepening there for the past forty years. One glance at him and I knew that I had heard aright.

“‘What do you make of it?’ we were swinging down the trail toward the corral when I asked the question.

“‘Gypsies, of course,’ was his laconic reply.

“‘It doesn’t seem possible nor reasonable.’ I was not convinced, but, of course, if the prize yearlings were really gone, someone had taken them unless—‘Lucky,’ I said, ‘are you sure they didn’t break through the fence somewhere?’

“‘Ah thought of that, but the tarnel thing is jest as whole as ’twas when Slim got through mendin’ it only Saturday week.’

“Just then we reached the drop in the trail and I could see the corral. Lucky had spoken truly; not a rail was misplaced, and, although the gate was standing open and torn from its hinges, it was evident that it had been broken by the impact of the stampeding cattle.

“I stood and stared almost stunned and hardly able to believe, even then, that so tragic a disaster had come to us. ‘Lucky,’ I said, ‘are you sure you barred the gate? The yearlings couldn’t get through there any more than through another part of the fence if it were equally secure.’

“I saw at once that my companion was hurt.

“I was sorry that I had asked the question, and I told him so. ‘Lucky,’ I said, with my hand on his shoulder, ‘there’s no one on the entire desert more trustworthy than you are. Of course the cattle got out some other way.’

“‘An’ the way was them gypsies.’ Lucky doggedly kept to his preconceived theory that a band of thieving gypsies were sure to rob us that night.

“It didn’t seem possible to me, nor probable either, but I didn’t tell him so.

“What I did say was. ‘Let’s get a snack to eat, climb Yucca Hill once more and see if there is any trace of the herd.’ Of course it would be impossible for gypsies to drive them very far in the few hours between midnight, when I turned in, and early dawn.

“But Lucky seemed determined to believe the worst. ‘Not if they were headed for the border,’ he replied. ‘They’d be across ’afore sunup easy.’

“I knew that to be true but decided to take an observation from the highest of the Three Sand Hills as soon as possible. Leaving our horses at the bottom we began the ascent. I had the misfortune when half way up to step on an insecure rock, which loosened and sent me sliding to the desert again. Lucky had kept right on and soon reached the top. I heard him shouting as he gestured excitedly. ‘What do you see?’ I called, feeling convinced that it was something which had interested him, nor was I wrong.

“‘It’s a tarnel whopper of a sand cloud and ’tisn’t Mexico way, neither, so we can take hope from that.’

“I had scrambled to his side by that time and stood shading my eyes from the glare of the rising sun. I, too, could see the rapidly moving cloud of sand.

“‘What do you make of it?’ I asked.

“‘Ah reckon it’s our yearlings all right on a stampede. But what’s puzzlin’ me is how a caravan on wheels that’s pulled by mules, as Davie said ’twas, kin go ’long fast enough to keep up with ’em.’

“‘It couldn’t,’ I replied, ‘but a bunch of rustlers on bronchos could keep up without half trying.’

“I was heart sick, Virg, at the thought that some clever cattle thieves had made away with our prize stock. The distance that they had already traveled, if they were our yearlings, was so great I could have no hope of overtaking them. There was one thing that puzzled me. That rapidly moving cloud of sand was headed directly for the part of our desert that is called Burning Acres. Not a ranch nor a water hole for miles and miles and sure death awaits man, horse or cattle if they get stranded in that barren waste.

“I was deeply discouraged. However, as we descended the hill I said: ‘Lucky, it’s a lost hope I guess, but the most we can do is to pack enough grub to last a few days, take two extra mounts, all the canteens we can carry and head that way.’

“That’s what we did, which brings the story up to the hour of our departure.”

“Did you find any trace of our yearlings?” Virginia’s query was anxious, for she knew that herd had been the pride of her brother’s heart. The lad shook his head. “No,” he said, “we didn’t. We rode as far into the Burning Acres as we dared go. When our water supply was half gone, we turned back, knowing that we would need an equal amount on our return trip. We had ridden in silence for some time when Lucky said: ‘Malcolm, Ah don’t hold that notion about gypsies any more. Ah reckon the thieves was rustlers that knew their business. Ah figger the fellow that told that yarn to Davie was stringin’ him. Thar wan’t any wheeled caravan in these parts, of that Ah’m sure sartin.’

“I was glad that he had come around to my way of thinking, but just as we were leaving the Burning Acres, I saw Lucky, who was in the lead, leap from his horse and examine the sand. Then turning, he gestured, beckoning me to hurry.”

Malcolm paused. “What had he found?” Betsy asked. She was sitting so close to the edge of her chair that she seemed in danger of falling off.

“Well, when I reached the spot,” Malcolm knew that what he was going to tell would astonish his hearers, “I saw Lucky pointing triumphantly at what were unmistakable wheel tracks in the sand.”

“Brother, do you really think that a band of gypsies has ridden into those dreadful dry lands?”

“I don’t know, Virg. We couldn’t stop to investigate as we were out of water and so we returned to V. M. As it was noon, we ate the good dinner Sing had ready for us and I turned in for an hour’s sleep but Lucky could not rest, and so after having had not more than forty winks of a doze, I heard him again riding away in search of further evidence.

“It was nearly dusk when he returned and he came on a gallop shouting my name. I was out on the porch in a moment. ‘Ah think Ah’ve hit a trail sure sartin this time,’ he called. I saw that he was leading my horse and a fresh mount that was laden with supplies.

“Uncle Tex rode in just then and seemed surprised to see that we were starting out so near nightfall. He had been to his cabin on Second Peak for several days and so had heard nothing of what had happened. I didn’t wait to explain, but must have mystified him greatly by calling, ‘Keep it dark which way we ride.’”

Virginia nodded for the old man had told her that he was indeed puzzled. “What did you find, brother?” she eagerly inquired.

“The same wagon tracks a mile to the west of where we had seen them before, but we could only find them in sheltered places. Of course in the open they were quickly covered with the drifting sand. We hunted for two days and all we found was this.”

He drew a scarlet silk scarf with fringed edges from his leather coat pocket. “That’s rather conclusive evidence that Lucky is right, isn’t it?” his sister inquired. “Shouldn’t you say that a gypsy woman might have used that scarf as a head covering?”

“I don’t know much about gypsies,” the lad replied, and the tale being told, he leaned back wearily.

It was the quiet Margaret who noticed how truly tired her guardian looked. “You’ve been over-working, Malcolm,” she said solicitously. “It has been a terrible strain for you to keep awake day and night with all the worry about the lost yearlings.”

The lad smiled down at her as he rose. “I think we’ll have to change places, Mistress Margaret,” he said. “I’ll be the ward and you the guardian since you look after me so well.” The sweet face of the girl was flushed, but, as Betsy had at that moment twisted the scarlet scarf about her own head, no one noticed Megsy.

When Malcolm was gone, the merry maid skipped lightly about on her toes shaking an imaginary tambourine.

“Betsy, you make a very fine gypsy,” Babs said, then, noting that Virginia sat, quietly gazing at the fire as though she were deep in thought, Barbara rested a hand on her arm as she added, “Virg, this means a good deal of a loss, doesn’t it, to you and Malcolm?”

The young hostess nodded, “Yes, dear, it does, but I am more concerned about Malcolm’s anxiety than I am about the disappearance of the yearlings. I do wish there was something that girls could do to help.”

Betsy had drawn near to listen. “Let’s get up just as soon as ever we can awaken,” she suggested, “and let’s try to find the wagon trails. If only I could solve this mystery, I’d be the happiest girl in all the land.”

Virginia, who understood the desert better than did her companions, even those who had visited it the year before, hesitated. Well she knew that it was very easy for even one desert-bred, to be lost in the Burning Acres. Then, noticing how truly disappointed Betsy looked, the young hostess conceded. “We can ride as far as the Three Sand Hills if you wish.” And with this Betsy had to be content, but how she did hope that they would go farther, and, Oh, if only she, Betsy Clossen, could find the caravan trail and restore the missing cattle. Her active brain was planning imaginary clews long after the others were asleep and yet, she was the first to awaken as soon as a faint grey light revealed the horizon. What would the day bring forth, she wondered.

CHAPTER V
BETSY’S FIRST RIDE

Malcolm, weary indeed with the long hard riding on the three days previous, did not waken, nor did Uncle Tex when, at a very early hour, the four girls stole out of the ranch house and, while the stars were still shining in the paling sky they skipped down to the wrangling corral. In a nearby shelter hung the saddles and Virg, with Margaret’s help, soon had the four ponies ready to ride. If Malcolm had known of their expedition, he would have insisted upon accompanying them, not knowing what dangers might await them. In fact he had intended to warn Virginia not to leave the immediate neighborhood of the ranch until he and Lucky had discovered the hiding place of the mysterious caravan, but, although he thought of it after he had retired, he reminded himself that it would be time to tell them at breakfast.

Virginia indeed had little hope of coming upon the trail of the rumored caravan, for, during the night, a sandstorm had swept across the desert and though of but brief duration, it would have obliterated whatever tracks had been visible the day before. She had thought of explaining this to the girls, but, knowing that Betsy would be greatly disappointed, she decided to ride with them at least as far as the Three Sand Hills.

This she often did, and, as the hills were surrounded by a vast waste of open desert, she knew that unless the gypsies were camped on the other side of the hills themselves, they would not come unexpectedly upon them.

Betsy, before she had left school, had expected to be timid about riding the western horses but Virg chose for her a gentle pony that was well broken and so interested was the Eastern girl in the quest upon which they were starting, that she found that she was not at all afraid.

The east was beginning to glow with pale rose and lilac when the top of the mesa was reached and Virginia, in the lead, pointed, as they all drew rein, to the Three Sand Hills that loomed dark and isolated, standing alone like sentinels on an otherwise flat expanse of desert.

Betsy looked up with glowing eyes. “It’s wonderful!” she said, “just to see this sun rise on the desert is worth a great deal, even if we don’t find a trail.”

Then they started on again riding single file. Betsy’s pony had taken the lead which delighted the young rider.

“It’s going to be a glorious day,” Margaret smiled back at Virg. “If it weren’t for the lost yearlings and the anxiety it means to you and Malcolm, I would be Oh, just ever so happy to think that we are home again.”

Virginia was pleased to hear her adopted sister call the desert “home.”

“Dear,” she said, “I am not going to worry over the loss nor will Malcolm. Being unhappy and making others unhappy never restores the thing that is lost. I mean to try to forget it as soon as we are sure that the herd cannot be recovered.”

For a moment they rode on in silence, then Megsy looked back again and smilingly nodded toward Betsy, who, quite forgetting that she intended to be afraid of Western horses, was leaning far over in her saddle and gazing at the sand that had been ribbed and scalloped by the wind during the night. Suddenly she stopped her pony to await the others. “Virg,” she asked eagerly, “are we near the place where Lucky first saw the wagon trail?”

Virginia had to confess that they were yet many miles from the edge of the Burning Acres where that trail had been seen. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Betsy,” she said, “but it would be impossible for us to ride that far unless we were prepared for a hard journey and were accompanied by Malcolm or Uncle Tex.”

They paused at the foot of the group of hills and Betsy shuddered as she said, “I don’t know why they seem so uncanny to me. Did anything ever happen here, Virg, anything spooky?”

“Why, nothing that I know about.” The Western girl laughed at the eager expression on the face of their youngest. “What, for instance?”

“Oh, some famous bandit might have been captured and bound to that giant yucca that stands all alone on the highest hill, and the masked men who had captured him might have stood down here and shot him, then silently ridden away while the vultures came with their weird cries to—”

Megsy put her hands over her ears. “Betsy,” she remonstrated, “you’re telling the story of that moving picture we saw at Vine Haven. My, but it was gruesome!”

Betsy laughed mischievously but Virg said seriously, “Those popular pictures give a very wrong impression of our desert life, as it really is. Now, if the rest of you would like to climb to the top of Yucca Hill, I’ll stay here with the ponies. It might be hard to catch them if they strayed in search of grass, and I do want to get home before Malcolm can miss us and be worried.”

Betsy was scrambling down from the back of her patient mount as she replied, “I’m going to climb up there, and stand right where the bandit stood—and—”

“Well, go on then.” It was Barbara who spoke. “We’ll wait for you down here. I, for one, am not pining for such a hard climb before breakfast.”

“Do you dare me?” the twinkling eyed Betsy asked, her arms akimbo.

“Double dare!” Babs retorted. Then they all laughed to see the speed with which Betsy began the ascent, but she soon found that she slipped back about as far as she progressed. However, in time, she reached the top and holding to the giant yucca she waved her other hand to the watching group. Then, shading her eyes, she looked long and intently in the direction of the Burning Acres. Suddenly she began to beckon wildly. Virginia was puzzled. “I wonder if she is doing that to tease or if she has really seen something of interest.”

“It seems to be all wings, and it’s white, isn’t it?”

Virg was the first to climb to the top of Yucca Hill, Margaret having offered to remain with the four ponies. Barbara, breathless, reached them a moment later, in time to hear an excited Betsy exclaim, as she pointed toward the south, “Virg did you ever see a bird as big as that? It seems to be all wings, and it’s white, isn’t it?”

Babs protested. “Goodness Betsy. Did you call us way up here and in such a hurry just to show us a bird?”

But Virginia, whose eyes were keener, since she was used to desert distances, watched the wide-winged object which was high in the air, and at least half a mile away.

“If it is a bird, which I doubt, it has hurt one of its wings for surely it is not flying in—” she interrupted herself to exclaim: “Oh, I see now! there goes one of the little whirlwinds that scud over the desert so often. Whatever that flying thing is, it was evidently tossed high in the air and is fluttering back to earth.”

Virg had surmised correctly for, with awkward movements of apparently wide stretched wings, the something, which had so aroused Betsy’s curiosity, fluttered groundward, but before it touched the sand it caught on the arm of a formidable thorny cactus which stood near the mesa trail. Laughingly the girls descended and told the curious Margaret what Betsy’s excitement had been over.

“And there I had hoped that it might be a clew,” that maiden mourned, as again, single file, they rode back toward V. M.

“Not a wagon track have we found nor anything exciting or even interesting,” Babs began, when Virg, being in the lead, called over her shoulder as she pointed at the great cactus that appeared near the trail not far ahead:

“There’s your wide-winged bird, Betsy. Nothing but a newspaper that tried to soar for a time but failed.”

Since they were in a hurry to reach V. M. before the hour which Malcolm had suggested that they have breakfast together, the girls did not stop to examine the newspaper, but, when they had reached the ranch yard, Betsy, who had been unusually quiet during the downward ride, suddenly exclaimed:

“Girls, I’m not sure but that we missed a clew, after all, when we passed that newspaper. If you don’t mind, Virg, I’m going back and get it. However,” and she smiled in a mischievous way, “if it’s all the same to everybody, I guess I’d rather walk. It’s ages since I’ve been on horseback, and I’m getting powerfully stiff.”

“If you’ll wait until after breakfast I’ll go back with you,” Babs told her friend.

“Can’t be done, old dear,” Betsy declared. “Another whirlwind might come along and where would my newspaper be?”

“Well, do hurry. I can tell by a certain appetizing fragrance on the air that ham and eggs are being prepared, and Oh! but I’m hungry.”