Dorothy Dale in the West

by Margaret Penrose

“’Scuse me, Ma’am!” he finally got breath to say. “But ef that ain’t th’ beatenes’!”

  “Maybe it is,” said Tavia, with sarcasm. “But until you are a little more explicit, Mr. Lance, I don’t see how we can join in your hilarity.”

  “Ain’t it so?” drawled Lance, still bubbling over with laughter.

  “Do be still, Tavia!” exclaimed Dorothy, admonishingly. “Give Mr. Lance a chance to tell us.”

  “And that I shore will do,” chuckled the cowboy, as they jogged on again. “I plumb believe the whole county will laugh to-morrer—that is, if Colt carries it through.”

  “Carries what through?” demanded Tavia, sharply.

  “Did yuh see that feller an’ gal?” began Lance, in his slow drawl. “That thar is Jim Colt and Peleg Crater’s darter, Molly. Peleg’s a pizen critter as ever was; but Molly’s jest as sweet an’ purty as a May mawnin’—an’ that’s goin’ some.

  “Wal, this here Jim Colt has been sparkin’ on Molly for a dawg’s age—yes, Ma’am! That pizen critter, Peleg, done drove him off his farm—Peleg’s a nestor—time an’ time ag’in. Ain’t a single livin’ thing the matter with the boy; but Peleg don’t wanter lose his housekeeper. Works that Molly gal like a reg’lar slave.

  “Wal! the last time, I hear, Peleg chased Colt with a shotgun, and purt’ nigh blowed the boy as full of holes as a colander.”

  “How awful!” gasped Dorothy.

  “What larks!” was Tavia’s comment.

  “Guess the smell o’ powder sort o’ put spunk intuh Colt. He’s got th’ gal tuh-night and they’re racin’ for a parson.”

  “To get married?” cried Dorothy.

  “An elopement?” was Tavia’s delighted cry.

  “Shorest thing you know,” agreed Lance.

  “My! I’d like to see them married,” cried Tavia.

  “And is her father following them, do you suppose, Mr. Lance?” asked Dorothy Dale, anxiously.

  “Ef he knows they’ve started you kin bet he’s after ’em—hot foot! Unless Colt throwed an’ tied him fust,” added Lance.

  “Mercy! is that somebody coming behind us now?” asked Tavia, delighted at this entirely new source of interest.

  But this was a false alarm. The three did ride faster, however, although Lance warned the girls that the distance to Killock was too far for them to hurry the ponies much.

  “These yere cayuses air all tuh th’ good,” declared the cowboy. “But there ain’t no use in runnin’ their leetle legs off right now. Somebody else may wanter use ’em after we git through.”

  “But that eloping couple were tearing away as fast as they could go,” complained Tavia.

  “I ’low a shotgun in the rear will make a man ride fast,” chuckled Lance.

  “Aren’t they going to the same town we are?” asked Tavia.

  “Killock? No, Ma’am! There’s Parson Hedwith at Branch Coulie—Jerusha Juniper! I bet they ain’t even goin’ thar,” ejaculated Lance, with revived interest. “Hop erlong, Gaby! Push on, ladies. Ef yuh wanter see thet thar marriage, mebbe we kin make it, after all. I bet they air bound for Bill Whistler’s.”

  “Who is he?” asked Tavia. “Somebody like the blacksmith at Gretna Green?”

  “Never hearn tell of him, Ma’am; an’ a blacksmith ain’t qualified tuh marry in this state. But Bill Whistler is. He’s just been made a Justice of the Peace.”

  “A ‘Squire’!” cried Tavia. “So’s my father.”

  “Wal, then, Ma’am; you know he kin marry as slick as airy parson,” said Lance. “It’s for his house Colt and Molly air aimin’, I ’low.”

  “Oh, Mr. Lance!” cried Dorothy Dale, enthusiastic herself now, “is Mr. Whistler’s house on this road?”

  “It shore is.”

  “Can’t we stop and see them married?”

  “That’s what I was thinkin’ on,” declared the cowboy. “I was ’lowin’ to give the ponies a rest there, anyway. And we’ll need it ourselves.”

  “Let’s hurry!” cried Tavia. “Maybe we can catch up with that girl.”

  The trio hastened forward. The girls were somewhat tired of riding, for they had already been in the saddle two hours, but this new topic of interest made them forget their weariness for the time.

  A light suddenly flashed up on the prairie ahead. “That’s in Bill’s winder,” declared Lance. “Colt and the gal have got thar.”

  “Oh, do let’s hurry!” cried Tavia.

  In their enthusiasm the girls urged on their little steeds. The ponies quite took the bits away from Dorothy and Tavia during the last half mile of the run, and they tore up to the low, slab-built house at a rattling pace.

  There was some disturbance in the house, and the door opened but a crack. The window had already been shuttered.

  “Who’s thar?” demanded a falsetto voice.

  “It’s Lance, tell ’em, Bill,” called out the cowboy. “Hold back the ceremony a minute. These yere young ladies from the East wants ter stand up with Molly, and if Colt wants a best man, why, I reckon I kin fill the bill. That’ll make a grand, proper weddin’.”

  “Come in,” said the falsetto voice. “And bar the door behind yuh. I un’erstan’ this yere is a hasty job. They say Peleg’s on the trail behind ’em.”

  Lance was already helping Dorothy and Tavia to dismount. They were as excited as they could be.

  “It’s just as though we were being chased by Indians, and this was a blockhouse,” whispered Tavia to her chum.

  The cowboy hustled the three ponies around to the shed back of the house. Then he ran back and followed the girls into the open door, shutting it quickly and dropping the bar into place.

  “Shoot, Bill!” exclaimed the cowboy. “We’re all ready, I reckon.”

  The girls were amazed at the appearance of the Justice of the Peace. He was a huge man with bushy red whiskers which looked as though they would fill a half-bushel measure. And the tiny, shrill, falsetto voice that came from his mouth when he opened it, almost set Tavia into hysterics.

  “Stand up yere—git in line,” said the Justice, fishing out a book from behind a littered couch. “I’ll marry yuh as tight and fast as airy parson in the county.”

  At the very moment he was beginning there came from without the thunder of advancing hoofs. Everybody heard it. Molly Crater grabbed the bridegroom (who was a good-looking young fellow) by the arm, and sang out:

  “It’s pap and the sheriff!”

  The next moment the horses arrived, and there came a thunderous knock on the door of the slab house.

  CHAPTER IX

  WHAT FOLLOWED AN ELOPEMENT

  “Take my gun, Lance, and stand at the door,” commanded the solemn, bewhiskered Justice. “Ain’t nobody gwine tuh disturb this court while in th’ puffawmance of its duty. No, sir!

  “Git busy, folks! Ketch holt of han’s,” and he proceeded to read through the form made and provided for such occasions by the State Judiciary, while Mr. Peleg Crater continued to hammer at the door.

  Dorothy and Tavia marveled at the courage of Molly Crater, who actually responded to the questions in unshaken voice while her angry father shouted threats outside.

  “Now, by jinks!” exclaimed the Justice, throwing down the book and saluting the bride with a kiss like the crack of a bullwhip, “yuh air tied hard an’ fast. Le’s see ol’ Peleg untie yuh.”

  “He’s got a gun,” said the cowpuncher warningly, at the door. “Ef he blows Colt’s head off the knot will be purty well busted—what?”

  “Wal, I’ll lend Jim my gun,” said the philosophic Justice. “Then let ’em go to it.”

  “No, sir-ree!” exclaimed the newly made Mrs. Colt. “I won’t have my husband and my father a-shooting at one another.”

  “Peleg means business, Molly,” said Lance.

  “So do I,” declared the bride. “I’d leave Jim right now ef he aimed a gun at pap. Just as I left pap ’cause he shot at Jim.”

  Dorothy and Tavia were badly frightened.
These people talked of the use of lethal weapons in a most barbarous way. Even Tavia began to think the West was more uncivilized than it was romantic.

  “That’s a good, strong door,” squealed the bewhiskered Whistler. “And the window shutters are bullet-proof. We kin stand a siege. I got a cyclone cellar, too.”

  “But we can’t stay here!” cried Dorothy, in great distress.

  “That is so, Doro. We have to catch that train,” agreed Tavia.

  “There’s more’n one train stops at Killock, Miss,” said Molly Colt, nee Crater, to Dorothy Dale. “And pap will git tired and go away.”

  “Nop,” said Lance, the cowboy. “I promised to git these ladies to Killock in time for the mawnin’ train, an’ I’m goin’ ter do it, or bust er leg!”

  “And it’s after midnight now,” said Dorothy, looking at her watch.

  “Yuh’ll hafter slip out the back way, git yuh ponies, an’ scoot,” advised Whistler through his whiskers.

  “We’ll all light out that way,” said young Colt.

  “But we don’t wanter get these girls in any trouble,” said Mrs. Colt.

  “We’ll leave ’em at once. Make for Branch Coulie. That’ll toll your pap off their trail,” said her husband of five minutes.

  Dorothy Dale, although she was much frightened by the situation, did not lose her presence of mind. “Why don’t you and your husband stay here, Mrs. Colt?” she said, clinging to the older girl’s hand. “You remain in the house—or in this cellar Mr. Whistler speaks of, while Mr. Lance and Tavia and I slip out at the back and get away. Your father will think we are you.”

  “That idea is as good as gold,” declared Lance, admiringly. “What the little lady says goes, Bill. You agreed, Jim?”

  “And me, too,” said Molly Colt, when her husband nodded.

  “Go to it,” squealed Whistler in his funny voice.

  Tavia nudged Dorothy, and whispered: “You’re crazy! you’ll get us shot.”

  “Not a bit,” said Lance, quickly, hearing her. “Our ponies are as fresh as can be now, while Peleg’s is clean tuckered out. He’s traveled already three times as fur as we have—and he ain’t been savin’ horseflesh, nuther, the state of mind he’s in. Believe me!”

  “But the sheriff?” asked Tavia. “Won’t he arrest us?”

  “If he wants my vote nex’ year,” shrilled Whistler, “he won’t interfere. He’s only along to see fair play, I reckon.”

  “Come on, then,” cried Lance.

  “I’ll keep Peleg at the door. Colt, you an’ Molly slip inter the cellar,” commanded the Justice of the Peace. “Peleg will hear Lance and these young ladies after they git started, and I’ll sick him ontuh yuh. He wouldn’t ketch yuh in a week o’ Sundays—an’ I never seed that week come around yit.”

  The girls from the East had only time to kiss Molly Colt good-bye and wish her happiness, when Lance hurried them out of the back door of the slab house. They were both keyed up with excitement, but Lance did not realize how troubled they were as he lifted them onto their respective ponies, after cinching the saddles again.

  “All ready?” whispered the cowboy. “Then we’ll start. I’ll ride behind. If the old goose does any shooting he’ll aim at me, anyway—and none o’ these nestors kin shoot wuth a hang. You can see the trail, ladies?”

  “Oh, yes,” replied Dorothy.

  They rode out quietly, skirting a group of sheds, and struck into the trail. The ponies were well under way before the angry farmer heard them.

  “He’s fell for it!” cried the cowboy. “Jerusha Juniper! Here he comes. Let ’em out, ladies. The ponies is fresh as jackrabbits.”

  For perhaps two miles they heard the farmer hooting and yelling behind them. But he did not shoot. Then the sounds of his pursuit abruptly ended. The ‘nestor’ had given up the chase.

  “I hope he’ll not find his daughter and her husband until he gets over his mad fit,” said Dorothy, anxiously.

  “That mean man would never be decent,” said Tavia. “But wasn’t it exciting?”

  “Colt’s goin’ to take Molly a fur ways off,” said the cowboy. “Old Peleg will have plenty of time to simmer down afore he sees airy of ’em again.”

  They rode on through the night and after a time Lance left the regular trail. Dorothy was a bit worried by this move and asked him why.

  “Isn’t there a chance of our getting lost, Mr. Lance?”

  “No, Ma’am. This trail goes a roundabout way, and we can cut off nigh ten miles by striking right ’cross country. If there was high water we couldn’t do it, but the streams are nigh dry.”

  “It looks so dark,” said Tavia. “How can you ever find the way?”

  Then he showed them the North Star and other planets and combinations of stars by which the plainsman casts his course at night, as the sailor does at sea.

  They came to several water-courses, unbridged; the ponies splashed through the shallow water, and then broke into their easy gallop again.

  Dawn came, tripping over the prairie behind them, soon catching and passing the three riders, and rushing on to lighten the deep shadows of the mountains far, far in advance. All night these mountains had masked the western horizon like a threatening cloud.

  Dorothy had dreamed of sunrise on the prairie; but she had not supposed it half so wonderful as it was!

  The hem of Dawn’s garment was tinged with opal light, which quickly changed to faint pink—then deep rose—then an angry saffron which spread like a prairie fire all along the eastern horizon.

  She could not help looking back at it to the detriment of her riding. But her pony was surefooted, and she came to no harm.

  The glow increased. They were bathed in the light, and quickly the first level rays of the sun chased their own elongated shadows over the ground. There sprang into view ahead, as they cantered over a small rise, several sharply sparkling objects.

  “What are they?” cried Tavia.

  “Them’s winders in Killock,” said Lance. “We’ll soon be there—and in plenty of time for your train, Miss.”

  “Oh, Mr. Lance,” Dorothy said, gratefully, “I don’t know how we can thank you for your kindness.”

  “Don’t say a word—don’t say a word,” urged their knight of the lariat. “We know how to treat ladies out yere, I reckon. An’ I ain’t done a thing tuh be thanked for.”

  “Are you going on with us to Sessions?” Dorothy asked him.

  “I can’t rightly do so,” said the cowboy. “I got to ’tend to some business for my boss here in Killock.”

  “Oh! I am so sorry,” said Dorothy. “I want you to meet my Aunt Winnie and my cousins.”

  “Mebbe I’ll see yuh at Dugonne—later,” said Lance, bashfully. “The Double Chain Outfit ain’t far from there.”

  Dorothy had money enough left to buy tickets to Sessions for herself and Tavia. Lance refused to take anything for the use of the ponies. As the train hooted in the distance for its brief stop at Killock, the girls hugged the ponies, and Tavia kissed Gaby plumb upon her soft nose.

  “She’s a dear, Mr. Lance!” she cried. “I hope I shall see her again.”

  “You’ll see her if yuh see me,” declared the cowpuncher. “Where I go Gaby goes, too, you bet!”

  They shook hands with the good-natured man and scurried aboard the cars. As they found a seat on the side away from the station, Dorothy clutched Tavia’s arm.

  “Look at that man, Tavia!” she whispered, pointing through the window.

  The person to whom Dorothy drew her chum’s attention was stealing out of the bushes beside the tracks. He was a gray-haired man, with a Grand Army hat, although the head-covering was battered and torn. He wore a ragged blue coat, too, and Dorothy had identified the button he wore on the lapel of the disreputable coat.

  He was an unshaven and altogether unhappy looking object; but that button assured Major Dale’s bright eyed daughter, that the poor old creature was a Veteran.

  “What do you suppose he is doing
here?” gasped Dorothy. “Oh! the poor old man!”

  The car wheels began to turn again. The train had halted for only a minute. They saw the man hobble across the tracks, and seize the railing as their car passed him. It was plain to the girls that he meant to steal a ride upon the fast train.

  “Oh! he’ll be killed,” gasped Dorothy, half rising from her seat.

  “Sit down, Doro Dale!” exclaimed Tavia. “If you tell anybody, he’ll be put off.”

  Dorothy was greatly troubled. She never saw a Grand Army man without being interested in him. And she had never seen one before who so looked like a tramp.

  “That worries me,” said Dorothy Dale, the tears standing in her beautiful eyes. “I fear that poor man will fall off the steps of the car.”

  “I am afraid the brakeman will see him and put him off at the first stop,” retorted Tavia. “And we haven’t money enough to pay his fare.”

  “Goodness! No!” cried Dorothy. “I have less than a dollar left in my purse.”

  “And of course, I have no money at all. I never do have,” groaned the reckless Tavia.

  “After the conductor goes through the car,” whispered Dorothy, seeing the man in question coming down the aisle, “I am going to steal back there and see if the poor old creature really did get upon the steps outside the vestibule door.”

  CHAPTER X

  THE MAN WHO WOULD HAVE DIED INDOORS

  The conductor seemed a jolly man, and he took a fatherly interest in Dorothy and Tavia, having a daughter about their age at home, so he said. Yet Dorothy did not feel like telling him about the old tramp whom she and Tavia had seen attempting to board the train.

  “You see, the conductor has his rules to go by,” explained Dorothy, “and we couldn’t expect him to break them for us. I wish we had money to pay the fare of the poor old creature.”

  “You don’t really know, Dorothy Dale, whether the man is on the step, or not,” urged Tavia.

  “I’m going to find out,” pronounced her chum, with decision.

  She left her seat, following the conductor slowly to the end of the car. Ostensibly she went for a drink, but the moment the blue-coated official had passed through to the next car, Dorothy went out into the vestibule. The brakeman chanced to be out of sight at the moment.