Dorothy Dale in the West

by Margaret Penrose

  The stops at the larger cities were never long; then the train would fly on again, reeling off the miles at top-speed. The second night they did not mind sleeping in the berths. And Dorothy helped Mrs. Petterby get ready for bed so that she felt more comfortable.

  “But it does seem awful resky,” she sighed. “Suppose there should be a smash-up—an’ me without my skirt on!”

  There was a smash-up the next day, but fortunately the train in which Dorothy Dale rode was not in the accident. Two freight trains went into each other some ways ahead of the express, and spread themselves all over the right of way. It would take some time to clear the mess up so that the express could pass; therefore the latter was stopped at a very pleasant Illinois town and the conductor told the young folk they would have at least two hours to wait.

  “Goody-good!” exclaimed Tavia. “Let’s run and see if we can get some candy at a decent price, Doro. The candy-butcher aboard this train is a highway-robber.”

  “I can beat that for a suggestion,” Nat said. “Why not find a place where we can get something beside this buffet stuff to eat. I haven’t the heart to eat all I want to in the dining-car.”

  “Why not?” asked Dorothy.

  “It costs so much.”

  “Come on,” agreed Ned. “We’ll go foraging.”

  “Be sure you get back in time, children,” ordered Aunt Winnie.

  But she expected Dorothy to keep her wits about her, whether the rest of them did or not. Near the railroad station there was nothing that appealed to Dorothy and Tavia—no restaurant, at least. But up a clean, bright little side street from the public square they saw a small, white painted house, with green doors and green window frames. Over the one big window beside the open door was a sign that read:

  ORIENTAL LUNCH ROOM

  “That looks nice,” said Dorothy.

  “And look at that dear, old, clean colored Mammy!” gasped Tavia.

  On the platform before the little restaurant was a large colored woman with a crimson bandana on her head, a spotless dress and white apron, and her sleeves rolled up to her fat elbows.

  “I bet she can cook,” quoth Ned, with assurance.

  “We’ll give the Oriental a whirl,” agreed Nat.

  But just as they were crossing the street to go to the place, Tavia suddenly exclaimed: “Oh! there’s somebody in there.”

  “Well, what of it?” asked Ned.

  “It’s hardly big enough for us. Let’s wait till that man comes out. I don’t like his looks, anyway. He has his hat on,” declared Tavia.

  They all saw the man in question. He was a black-browed and broad-hatted stranger, and he sat at a table in the little eating place, staring out through the window with a frown on his brow. He was not an attractive looking man at all.

  “I bet he has a bad conscience!” exclaimed Nat.

  “Or indigestion,” chimed in his brother.

  “He won’t eat us,” said Dorothy, doubtfully. “If we do go in——”

  “I say, Mammy!” cried Tavia, to the smiling colored woman. “Do you do the cooking?”

  “’Deed an’ I do, Missie,” declared the woman. “An’ I got de freshes’ catfish dat eber come out o’ de ribber. An’ light beaten’ biscuit—an’ co’npone, an’ all de odder fixin’s.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Nat, smacking his lips.

  “But can’t we have the place to ourselves?” complained Tavia. “If that man was only gone!”

  “Yo’ mean Cunnel Pike?” whispered the colored woman. “He comes yere befo’. He’s er-gwine out on dat train wot’s stalled down yander——”

  “That’s the train we’re going out on,” Tavia declared. “Like enough he’ll stay here till it goes.”

  “But we can eat in there if he is present,” said Dorothy, again. She knew just how stubborn Tavia was when she got an idea in her head.

  “We’ll get him out! I’ll tell you,” gasped Tavia, suddenly.

  “How?” demanded the others, in chorus.

  “No, I won’t. Only Nat. I’ll tell him. You can order the meal, Ned, and while it is being cooked we’ll fix it so that horrid man will leave. Come on, Nat.”

  Nat went off with her. The others were doubtful of her scheme, but they were hungry. So Ned instructed the colored woman as to the repast and then he and Dorothy sat down on the steps to wait for developments.

  Meanwhile Tavia led Nat back to the main square of the village. “Run, get me a telegraph blank from the station,” she ordered, and Nat, without question, did as he was bade.

  Tavia quickly wrote a message and addressed it to “Colonel Pike, Oriental Lunch Room,” with the name of the town appended. “Now,” she said to Nat, “I dare you to send this message,” and her eyes danced.

  Nat read it through once, looked puzzled, and then read it twice and grinned—the grin expanding as the full significance of the joke penetrated his mind.

  “Crickey-Jiminy!” he exclaimed. “But if they tell him?”

  “Telegraph operators are not supposed to tell. Instruct this one not to do so, Nat. Now, I dare you!”

  “You can’t dare me,” boasted Nat, and hurried back to the station. When he returned they strolled on to the Oriental Lunch Room once more and rejoined Ned and Dorothy.

  “Now! whatever have you been doing, Tavia?” demanded Dorothy.

  Tavia could not help giggling. “Just you wait and see,” she said.

  “I hope you didn’t let her do anything very bad,” Dorothy said to Nat.

  “I helped her do something mighty smart,” returned her cousin, looking with admiration at pretty Tavia.

  Just then a boy with a Western Union cap came up and went into the little restaurant. “Say!” he demanded of the black-browed man. “Are you Pike?”

  “Am I what?” asked the man, in a hoarse voice.

  “Cunnel Pike’s the name,” said the boy. “And right at this restaurant.”

  “Oh! a telegram?” demanded the man, in surprise. “Well, that’s my name,” and he put his hand out for the envelope.

  “Sign here,” said the boy, and after he had gotten the signature in his book he gave up the message and went out.

  “Look!” gasped Tavia, clinging to Dorothy’s hand.

  All four of the young people watched covertly the man behind the window. They saw him tear open the envelope and read the message curiously. Then his heavy, dark face changed and curiosity was blended first with amazement and then with something very like fear.

  He started to tear the message up. Then he got to his feet and his face began to pale. Dorothy and the others watched him in wonder and some alarm.

  Finally the man grabbed his hat brim and pulled it down over his eyes. He strode out of the place and down the steps, without looking at the boys and girls, and started straight for the railroad station.

  As he went his trembling fingers relaxed and the telegraph message dropped at Dorothy’s feet.

  “What do you know about that?” whispered Nat. “We sent him that message.”

  “What?” demanded Dorothy, and snatched it up.

  She uncrumpled the sheet of yellow paper and read in the crooked letters of the old typewriter which the local operator used:

  “Come home at once. All is forgiven.”

  “Tavia Travers!” cried Dorothy. Then she burst into laughter, and so did Ned when he had read the slip of paper.

  “I believe I have done a very good thing,” claimed Tavia, quite seriously. “No wonder that old Colonel Pike looked like a ‘grouch.’ He had trouble on his mind, and now we’ve sent him home to get it all straightened out.”

  “Oh, Tavia!” groaned Dorothy again.

  “I’d give a good bit to be at his home—if he goes there—and see what happens,” Ned said, when he had ceased laughing.

  “Anyway,” grinned Nat, “the ‘bogey man’ is gone and we can take possession of the Oriental Lunch Room.”

  Which they forthwith proceeded to do. The old colored wo
man served them a delicious meal, and added to their enjoyment of it by her comments upon many things, not the least of which was her wonder as to “what tuk Cunnel Pike out o’ yere so suddent like.”

  The gay little party left the restaurant in good season and rejoined Aunt Winnie aboard the train. They saw nothing more of the man called “Cunnel” Pike. Another train had just gotten away for the East and Tavia said:

  “I tell you he has gone home. We did a very good action—probably have changed the current of his whole life.”

  “Like to peek over the shoulder of the Recording Angel, Tavia, and see what’s marked down against you for that telegram—eh?” chuckled Ned.

  “Well!” declared Dorothy, “I hope when he gets home they will be as glad to see him as that message intimated.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t worry and get wrinkled!” shrugged Tavia.

  “I guess we’ll never know about that,” said Ned.

  “It’s like one of those serial stories in the papers, ‘continued in our next’—and you always miss your copy of the next number,” said Nat. “I’ve a dozen different plots ‘hanging fire’ in my mind that I never will get to know how they finish up.”

  “Learn to read books, then,” advised his brother, “and stop littering up your mind with such useless stuff.”

  “Wow!” exclaimed Nat. “You talk like Professor Grubber. Oh, I say! Did you hear of that one they had on Old Grubs in class one day? He was discussing organic and inorganic kingdoms. Says he:

  “‘Now, if I should shut my eyes—so—and drop my head—so—and remain perfectly still, you would say I was a clod. But I move. I leap. Then what do you call me?’

  “And Poley Gray says, quite solemnly, ‘A clodhopper, sir.’ It got them all,” concluded the slangy Nat. “Even Old Grubs himself had to laugh.”

  After that two-hour hold-up of their train the party found that the speed at which they traveled was greatly increased. Each engineer in turn tried to make up a bit of that handicap, and the travelers were tossed about in their berths that night in rather a disturbing manner.

  Mrs. Petterby would not have gone to bed at all had it not been for Dorothy’s encouragement; she would have sat up with her pullet in her lap, and her bonnet firmly tied under her chin.

  “I’m ever expectin’ to have this train crash right into another,” said the old lady. “And I want to be ready for it.”

  “Do you think you’ll be any more ready sitting up than you will be lying down, dear Mrs. Petterby?” Dorothy asked.

  “Seems as if I would,” returned the old lady. “I tell you what! I sha’n’t come out to see my baby no more. I shall tell him that. And I dread the going back.”

  “Perhaps you will like Colorado so much that you will want to stay.”

  “What? And never see Rand’s Falls, Massachusetts, again?” exclaimed Mrs. Petterby, in horror. “I—guess—not.”

  “I hope we shall see her baby when she meets him,” Doro said, tenderly. “And I hope he’s all she expects him to be.”

  “A cow-puncher at forty-five a month,” sniffed Nat.

  “Oh! but cowboys are awfully romantic,” said Tavia, quickly.

  “Look out for her, Dot,” begged Ned. “You’ll have to blindfold her to get her past any cow-punching outfit we may meet. I can see that.”

  On the following day when the train crossed the first ranges and they beheld little bunches of five hundred or a thousand head of “longhorns,” Tavia went into raptures.

  The four young folk from the East remained upon the observation platform most of the time. Even after supper the girls went back there to view the prairies in the gloaming.

  There was a distant light here and there, like a low-hung star; but there were few towns, or even settlements. Suddenly the train slowed down and they saw several switch-targets. Then they passed the ghostly fence of a large corral, and they ran by a barn-like, darkened station and freight sheds.

  The train stopped altogether. The girls saw the flagman seize his lantern and run back to set his signal. “Come on!” exclaimed Tavia. “He’s left the gate open.”

  She gave Dorothy no time to decide, but ran lightly down the steps herself and sprang onto the cinder path. Dorothy followed.

  “Listen!” whispered Tavia, seizing her chum’s hand, tightly. “Hear the night breathe.”

  There did seem to be a vast, curious sound to the inhalation of breath.

  Dorothy listened to the sound with a wonder that grew. It was not the engine exhaust. It was a sound like nothing she had ever heard before.

  “See! there’s another big corral beyond the station,” Tavia said. “Come on!”

  She led Dorothy down the platform, and out upon the softly giving earth.

  The headstrong Tavia went directly toward the high fence. The regular, rhythmic breathing seemed to surround them.

  Of a sudden, something scrambled against the fence before them. There was a bump against the bars, and two shining eyes transfixed them.

  The engine gave a single long-drawn shriek. Instantly the car wheels began to turn, while from the creature inside the corral fence came a bellow.

  “Goodness me!” shrieked Tavia. “It’s cattle—the corral’s full of cattle.”

  “That isn’t the worst of it!” returned Dorothy, grabbing her hand and starting to run. “We’re being left behind, Tavia Travers!”

  CHAPTER VII

  A NIGHT WITH A KNIGHT

  “Well! I wouldn’t talk as though it had never happened before to anybody,” said Tavia, at last. “Why! even we, Doro, have been left behind before.

  “Still, I grant you, we were never left before behind a fast express, which was speeding your aunt and the boys away from us so rapidly that we will be miles and miles behind before they discover our absence.”

  “If, however, they learn that we are behind before they reach——”

  “Stop! ” commanded Dorothy, dropping down beside the track and covering her ears. “If you say that again, I’ll certainly do something to you.”

  They had followed the train down the long platform, screaming to the flagman to pull the signal cord. He had not heard them. He had merely closed the gate and gone into the car.

  Here Dorothy Dale and Tavia Travers were, deserted at this un-named prairie station, where—to all appearances—there was not a soul.

  “And if anyone is here, I expect I shall be scared to death,” admitted Tavia, sitting down beside her chum.

  It was so dark that only the vastness of the earth and sky was made known to them—and that but vaguely. Stars twinkled above their heads, but seemingly so high that, as Tavia complained, they did not seem like “the stars at home, back East!”

  Sitting facing the railroad tracks, they saw no lights but the switch targets. There was no tower here, nor did there seem to be any life at all about the railroad property. Why the express train had stopped here, to tempt them to disembark, the girls could not imagine.

  They were sitting close up against the great corral fence. The deep breathing of the herd was like the distant, low notes of an organ; the girls were not now interested in the manifestation of the presence of such a great number of cattle. But the cattle were curious.

  Another came and snorted behind them, and Dorothy and Tavia scrambled up in a hurry. “They sound just as savage as bears,” declared Tavia.

  “I don’t see why they have all deserted the cattle,” murmured Dorothy. “I should think there would be a night watch.”

  “And all the railroad people have deserted, too.”

  “Oh, dear!” said Dorothy. “We can’t even send a telegram after the train to tell Aunt Winnie we are all right.”

  “But that wouldn’t be true,” said Tavia, shivering. “We are not all right.”

  “We-ell,” said her friend, slowly. “I don’t expect there is anything here to hurt us.”

  “That’s all right. Maybe there isn’t. But I never did like to be alone in a strange place. I want to
be introduced to folks.”

  “Maybe there is a cowboy camp near——”

  “Bully! let’s find it!” ejaculated Tavia.

  “But you wouldn’t know the cowboys. They’d all be strange men.”

  “Well! Cowboys are so romantic,” urged Tavia. “Let’s look.”

  “You can use your eyes as well as I can,” sighed Dorothy. “But I must say the prospect for finding anybody in this half darkness is not very alluring.”

  They started, following the line of the corral fence away from the station. Dorothy was convinced there was no telegraph operator there, and the barn-like building looked more dreary and threatening than did the open prairie. So they were glad to get away from it.

  The fence seemed unending. Occasionally a beast faced them, glaring with eyes like hot coals, and pawing the earth. But the fence looked strong.

  They were not booted for walking, however, and the ground was uneven. So they hobbled on very slowly.

  Tavia seized Dorothy’s arm. “Oh! what’s that?”

  “Now, don’t you begin scaring me,” commanded Dorothy. “Oh!”

  “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “A man on horseback.”

  They could see him between them and the skyline. He was riding slowly, and riding toward them. The girls hugged close to the fence and their dark traveling frocks were not noticeable.

  The horseman drew nearer. The girls, clinging together, saw that he wore a wide hat and sheepskin chaps that looked like a woman’s divided skirt, they were so wide.

  His pony pranced and snorted, doubtless scenting the girls. But the man spoke a soothing word and did not even gather up the reins that lay loose on the animal’s neck.

  His voice had a pleasant, drawling tone to it. “Easy, there, Gaby—yuh shore ain’t gettin’ no thousand plunks er night for dancing yere—no, Ma’am! Stan’ still a moment, Gaby.”

  Then a spark flared up and the girls knew the cowboy had been rolling a cigarette and was now lighting it.

  “Sh!” breathed Dorothy. “Watch his face.”

  The match flared up, held in the hollow of his hand. The yellow glare of it fell full upon the cowboy’s face.