“Jo said he knew a man who turned an automobile into a lamp post,” said Betty.
“Oh, Betty!” laughed Pen, “maybe there is hope for a sinner to be turned into a saint.”
“We won’t have to resort to curtains,” said Mrs. Kingdon. “I have a white satin skirt that is too short for me, and you can fashion a waist from a piece of white muslin.”
“And Doris left her white slippers that were too short for her,” reminded Betty.
“To think,” meditated Pen presently as she deftly cut out a waist, “that the thief should be making evening clothes, when it was only but yesterday she was booked for bars instead of balls.”
* * *
CHAPTER V
The two fiddlers were tuning their instruments when the party from the house entered the rosy-lighted mess-hall. Jo started forward with an air of assurance to claim Pen. When he beheld her, he stopped abruptly, lost in admiration of the daintily clad young person whose Castle-cut locks had been lured to a coiffure from which little tendrils escaped in babyish rings.
Jakey Fourr, second violin, glimpsed her at the same time and noticed Jo’s hesitating halt.
“Ladies’ Choice!” he shouted with a grin.
Jo looked at her expectantly but vainly; for she gladdened the pride of Francis by choosing him as her partner. Betty and Billy mutually chose each other. Mrs. Kingdon selected a newcomer. Agatha and the “other girl” asked their particular friends, and the cook spitefully “sat it out.” Pen had to follow the prim little steps learned by Francis at a city dancing school the winter before, and Sleepy Sandy thoughtfully timed his tune thereto and shortened the number. Then Jo started for the belle of the ball, but a youth in combination attire of hunter, cowboy and soldier was ahead of him.
“Would you honor me, ma’am?” he asked.
She would and did, but she never learned the name of the wonderful dance with which she “honored” him. It had been a case of “whither thou goest, I will go.”
Again Sleepy Sandy was considerate and cut this number short also.
Then Betty came running breathlessly up to Pen.
“Jo says if you don’t dance with him this next time like you promised, he’ll drown the kittens. Please, Aunt Pen!”
Jo was promptly on hand this time.
“This is mine,” he asserted, “unless you’re danced out by that gink.”
“My dancing blood isn’t up yet,” she said, slipping into his arms. She didn’t care to know the name of the dance. All she knew was the ecstasy of the moment in the flowing, melting rhythm. Jo had the easy assurance of the dancer born, and she went where he willed, as if she were floating on silver wires. Finally, Sleepy Sandy, watching them in envious admiration, was aware that he had played as long as the law of limit allowed.
“Isn’t this better than Reilly’s?” she asked demurely.
“There will never in the world be to me a night like the one at Reilly’s,” he replied.
“Jo, why don’t you go into vaudeville? Your dancing would bring you twice what your work here must.”
“Mine is a man’s job,” he retorted. “I’d rather dance horseback than on any stage. I have to go over to Farley with a lot of cattle to-morrow. It will take me three days. You will arrange to see me again when I come back?”
“I surely will, Jo,” she promised.
“Don’t let Jo monopolize you,” said Kingdon, coming up to them at the close of the dance. “We try to give the boys plenty of recreation, and they don’t get many girls to dance with. None like you.”
Pen dutifully promised to do penance with the rank and file.
“I’ll go and ask the cook,” said Jo mournfully, “else I won’t get half rations. Then I’ll come back for you.”
Reluctantly he gave way to Gene and approached the cook.
“Say!” he asked with a quirk to his mouth, “want to hook on to the wishbone?”
“Those darned brats fetch and carry everything they hear,” she exclaimed.
“Forget it. A wishbone’s the best bone to pick anyway.”
Thereafter he waited patiently for Pen to do her duty dances and slip one in with him.
Pen went to sleep that night with blissful recollections of her wonderful dances with Jo and a vague curiosity as to whether Kurt Walters could dance.
For the greater part of three days she sewed assiduously, surrounded the while by three admiring children who listened entranced to a new kind of Scheherazade tales. Between times she gathered flowers for the many jugs and jars, learned to make salads and to perform little household duties hitherto unknown. Then suddenly there came a swift change of mood. The sense of uneasiness, the need of freedom, the desire that pervades the wistful note of the imprisoned bird was in her blood.
“My life is too full of work-days,” she declared. “Three days of domesticity! I can no more. I will see if Jo hasn’t returned.”
Seeking new fields that night, she slipped surreptitiously down to the mess hall.
“Halloa!” greeted Jo rapturously. “I’ve been watching for you, Li’l Penny Ante. Just got back. What you been doing since the dance?”
“Behaving. And I must get even some way or go stark mad. What have you been doing?”
“Me? Jakey here and I’ve been entertaining ourselves with a game of craps.”
“Play it with me instead. It’s the only game I’ve never learned.”
“Sure, I’ll show you. Sit down here on the floor.”
Later Kingdon, in search of the missing guest, strolled down to the mess hall, guided thither by a rippling laugh chorused with responsive guffaws.
Curious, he looked in. Seated on the floor were Jo and Pen excitedly playing an evenly matched game, while an adoring circle of men applauded, encouraged and scoffed in turn.
There were two patches of crimson in Pen’s cream-white cheeks, a bright sparkle of excitement in her eyes, which changed to the apprehensive look of a child expecting reproof as she looked up and saw Kingdon.
“I’m having such a good time!” she told him deprecatingly.
He smiled.
“You look it. The children and the rest of us are lamenting your absence. We want a good time, too.”
“I’ll come again,” she promised, with a backward look at the men, as she docilely walked on with Kingdon.
Jo hurried after them.
“To-morrow’s field day,” he reminded her. “You’ll be there?”
“I’m living on the thought of it. You’re the manager, aren’t you?”
He grinned.
“Acting manager—for Kurt Walters.”
“Mayn’t I do a stunt, too?” she asked eagerly.
“Sure thing, you may. We’ll be glad to have a novelty in the way of a lady performer. What’ll it be?”
“I’ll see you in the morning and tell you what I can do.”
Mrs. Kingdon smiled understandingly when she heard of the game of craps.
“Just a few days up here have done wonders for you,” she observed, looking at her young charge approvingly.
“Yes; I feel physically fit—like a real soldier.”
* * *
CHAPTER VI
With a little sigh of relief and pleasure, Pen laid aside some garments, on which she had been steadily and surreptitiously working, and sought Jo.
“Come down under cover of one of the hills,” she urged, “and I will show you what my part in the day’s work will be. Special exhibition. Admittance free, but no other spectators allowed.”
Half an hour later Jo was gazing at her as one gazes at some marvelous performer, but his awe and admiration were expressed in a simple but effective phrase:
“Oh, baby, but you can put it over them all!”
That afternoon when the Kingdon household came down to occupy the row of raised seats erected in the “field,” Pen was missing. Her absence was a mystery until the following typed programs for the day were handed out:
OUTLAW HORSE SHOW
TOP HILL PARK
* * *
JO GARY, Champion Rider of Top Hill, will ride Turn Turtle and Pinch Hitter.
SLEEPY SANDY will ride Battleship Gray and Baby Doll.
JAKEY FOURR will ride Pickled Pete and Piker.
GENE DOSSEY will ride Hiawatha and Whizz.
* * *
MISS PENNY ANTE
(Miss Penelope Lamont)
Will ride anything brought into the ring!
* * *
GREAT EXHIBITION OF ROUGH RIDING by the most notorious riders of the West. Only the most unmanageable animals will be ridden.
Kingdon’s eye-glasses came off with a sense of shock.
“This will never do, Margaret!” he exclaimed. “Those crazy boys have no sense. They’ll bring out some of those wild horses, and that meek-looking, little daredevil friend of Kurt’s will call any bluff. She mustn’t be allowed to ride.”
His wife restrained him as he started away.
“I feel confident that she can do—anything. She told me she could ride.”
“Well,” he replied resignedly, “I always have left everything regarding girls to your judgment, so I suppose I must now, but I am surprised at you.”
The children were thrown into a state of excitement on deciphering Pen’s part in the coming feats.
A bugle sounded.
Into the ring rode the four slim, young top riders of the ranch force, chaparajos and sombreros being much in evidence. They gave the usual stunts in the typical Western way on a track tramped as hard as asphalt, the tattoo of hoofs making the hard earth ring in the soundless atmosphere. Their feats, singly and together, were marvelous, but there was lacking to the onlookers the charm of novelty, as they had long been accustomed to these and similar exhibitions of horsemanship.
Everyone’s heart beat a little faster with expectancy, therefore, when there came another blare of the trumpet. Into the ring came “Miss Penny Ante,” slim and straight as a boy scout, clad in puttees, dark blue breeches and an olive-drab blouse.
A sleek, shy colt was suddenly inducted into the scene of action. Then there began a frisky game of maneuvers. The little, would-be rider proved as wary and nimble as the colt on which she finally succeeded in shooting a bridle. Another round of come and go, and one leg went over the slender neck, and then down the glossy back slid the lithe figure. With a wondering, protesting neigh, the colt tried all the tactics known to his species, but they were of no avail, and after circling and re-circling the ring, Pen calmly relinquished him and awaited the next offer.
A wild-eyed mustang was the victim. As soon as she was mounted, he rose high on his hind feet but came down like a lamb and ended in spinning like a top around the ring.
A general protest went up when a demoniacal-looking buckskin was produced.
“They are horse-mad!” exclaimed Kingdon. “Margaret, this is going to stop right here.”
“Louis,” she replied earnestly, “this is only horse-play to Pen. No, I am not punning. I didn’t know she was going to make this exhibition, but some way I feel that she can easily live up to the promises in the program.”
With a plunge the buckskin went straight into mid-air and came down hard. Then at full speed amid a whirling of dust, he tried all his tricks, but always the little figure held her position, easily triumphant, and finally the hitherto unmountable animal again came trembling to earth and obediently followed his rider’s will.
“You’ve won!” cried the cowboys.
“Now, bring me a horse, a real saddle horse—the kind you give a kingdom for!” she demanded. “I’d like to ride a bit, if you don’t mind.”
They brought her a beautiful thoroughbred. She rode around the ring a few times, and then, leaping the fence to the inclosure, was away and over the hills, her blood throbbing, her heart pounding as she felt the soft, southwest wind in her face, the siren song of freedom ringing in her ears. The divine sweetness of the mountain air was in her nostrils. She was recalled from her state of rhapsody by the sound of pounding hoofs behind her. She half turned in her saddle, expecting to see Jo. She didn’t need the commanding-toned “Wait!” to rein in her horse.
There was an inscrutable look in the blazing eyes of the approaching horseman, a compelling force in his broad shoulders as he rode up to her.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“Nowhere. Just riding,” she replied.
Her uplifted face was vivid with joy, her eyes sparkling. Suddenly a wave of color suffused her cheeks.
“I wasn’t running away!” she declared, suppressing a chuckle. “Honest, I wasn’t. It’s field day. I’ve been doing stunts and I just ached for a real, regular ride. It’s so grand to be astride a horse and feel the world is yours! When did you come home?”
“I haven’t come home. I am on my way to Fowler’s to subpœna a witness, and I rode this way meaning to stop but a moment. I came over the big hill just as you rode into the ring.”
She stole a look at his impassive face.
“And you saw the sports?”
“Yes; and rode on after you—”
“Because you feared your prisoner might be taking French leave? No; this is the end of the rainbow to me. I have no desire to leave—at present.”
They were riding slowly on.
“Where did you learn to ride?”
“I don’t remember; it was so long ago.”
“That was circus riding.”
“It did look like it,” she said deprecatingly.
“If you can ride like that, why did you leave the circus for the life—”
“Of a crook?” she finished. “Suppose I stole a horse and sold it and had to vamoose. Even circus managers don’t employ thieves.”
“Who gave you permission to ride to-day?” he demanded.
She pulled from the pocket of her blouse a program and handed it to him.
“You see I was featured,” she explained modestly.
He read it with a frown expressive of displeasure.
“Did Mrs. Kingdon know you were going to do this?”
“No one but one of the men knew.”
“How did you come to meet the men?”
“The children introduced me to one of them and I met the others at the dance. I never knew what dancing really meant until then. I’ve learned to play a very gamey game, too. Craps.”
With a jerk Kurt brought his horse to a halt and reaching over caught her bridle as she was about to spur her horse onward.
“Did you tell Mrs. Kingdon everything?” he asked sternly.
“Everything I could remember,” she replied demurely. “Far more than I told you.”
“What did she say?”
“She is going to talk to you and ask you to leave the entire matter in her hands.”
He broke the short silence that followed.
“Dancing, craps and bronco-breaking are not what I brought you here for.”
“But I’ve done lots of other things, too. Sewed three days straight, learned how to make salads, heard the children’s lessons, picked flowers and getting wise to a home atmosphere every minute. You won’t send me away?”
He was scowling at the program again.
“Why are you called Penny Ante?”
“You object to all of my names. But this one was Betty’s fault. She introduced me as ‘Aunt Penny,’ and of course they put it backward.”
“Who do they think you are?”
“Your ‘lady friend’ here for a visit,” she answered with the little giggle that always offended him. Then, appeasingly: “Mrs. Kingdon said it would be better if only you and she knew who I am and why I am here at the ranch.”
“Go back to the house,” he directed. “I’ll be home in a few days.”
Obediently she turned her horse and he rode in the opposite direction.
“Kurt—Mr. Walters!” she called entreatingly.
He turned in his saddle and waited until she rode back to him.
“The
re is something I want to tell you,” she said, her eyes downcast, a faint note of exultation in her voice. “I haven’t taken a thing—or tried to—or wanted to—since I’ve been here, and I’ve had lots of chances.”
Receiving no reply, she looked up pleadingly, and was startled at the transformation in his eyes, which were usually narrow, cold and of steel-gray shade, but now were dark, shining and full of infinite pity as they looked down into hers.
“I am glad to hear it,” he said gently. “You know that was why I brought you here. Now you must do more for me. You mustn’t mingle with the men, or repeat to-day’s program. I want you to be like her—a house-woman. Good-bye—until I come home.”
He rode swiftly away, and she laughed softly to herself, stopping suddenly.
“It isn’t so funny after all; it’s really pathetic. But—a house-woman! Ye Gods! That is the last thing I want to be—or could be. It’s all well for a novelty, but for steady diet—oh, me! If Hebby could have heard the law laid down to me, he’d be overcome with glee. Poor old Heb! I bet he is still frothing at the mouth because I gave him such a neat slip. I seem, however, to have only succeeded in changing keepers.”
She rode on, her conscience smiting her now and then when she recalled the look in Kurt’s eyes.
“I don’t deserve pity from him or anyone,” she thought a little sadly.
She made no mention at Top Hill of having met the foreman. Notwithstanding his orders, for three days she revelled in the companionship of Jo and the men.
“We must harvest all the hay we can,” she told him, “while Kind Kurt is away.”
On the evening of the third day, she found herself watching the hill road from town.
“I feel like Sister Anne,” she thought. “It’s odd, why I am wanting him to return, for when he does, my fun will be nipped in the bud. It may be the feeling of a dog for its master that I have acquired for my sheriff man. Jo will be going soon to Westcott’s. I think I will play up to Kind Kurt and then tell him what I revealed to Mrs. Kingdon. Wow!”
Penny of Top Hill Trail Page 6
