Dorothy on a Ranch. Raymond Evelyn

was discovered! How flat their jolly adventure had fallen!

      Molly had bound Mattie to secrecy, and there was that about the western girl that convinced the other that the secret would be kept. If Mrs. Roderick did guess what had become of them, and said so, it would be no comfort to Lady Gray and Helena; and the longer Molly pondered the matter, the more ashamed and terrified she felt. What would Aunt Lucretia say? And what her father – could he see his madcap at that moment?

      In a bitter reaction of feeling the girl dropped her head upon the pony’s neck, though still mechanically urging the willing creature to her utmost speed. Her thoughts were far away when, suddenly, she felt a check upon the rein and lifted her startled face.

      “Why, Leslie! You scared me!”

      “Were you asleep?”

      “No.”

      “What then? Your head was down. The ‘calico’ was taking her own way. What’s the matter?”

      “It’s none – I mean, if you must know, I was crying.”

      “Oh! horrors! Why?”

      “Because I’ve done such a dreadful thing. It was wicked. I had no right and – and – ”

      “Yes, I know. You were frightened. Well, I was, too.”

      Molly straightened her shoulders and pretended contempt, saying:

      “I didn’t know as gentlemen – ‘thoroughbreds,’ you know – western thoroughbreds ever were fr-fri-ghtened. What – was – that?”

      A curious cry had reached them and Molly finished her speech in a whisper. The horses, also, had heard it and had thrust back their ears in fear.

      Just there the road skirted the edge of a forest and the cry had come from its depths. They peered into the shadows but could see nothing, and edging the pony close to Beelzebub, as Leslie’s mount was named, Molly repeated her question.

      “Likely a wild cat, puma, or wolf. I don’t know,” he answered.

      “Have you heard it before? Was it that scared you?”

      “No, I was afraid something would happen to you, left behind, alone. I fancy we’re in no danger that way – ” pointing forestward. “But – ”

      “‘But’ – what? If you thought about me why didn’t you come back to look for me?”

      “I couldn’t. Once he got in motion this beast wouldn’t stop till he – ran down like a clock.”

      “Pooh! You should go to a riding school! Let’s go on, now, or else back. I can’t stop here with lions and panthers yelling at us! I – I – Oh! do come on! But keep tight hold of the pony’s rein. Don’t get away from me again.”

      “I shan’t. I can’t.”

      “Oh! come!”

      “I tell you I can’t. We’re planted.”

      Molly’s lip quivered, but she restrained her tears and tremulously entreated:

      “Oh, Leslie, don’t! I can’t stand teasing now. This isn’t funny – not a bit. Shall we go back? Or try to overtake the others?”

      “We can’t do either one. I tell you we’re simply stuck. Settled down and gone to housekeeping. Beelzebub has finished. He won’t take another step. Fact. We’ve got to make the best of it. If that pony of yours was as big as a decent calf we might ride double and leave this wretch to starve and think it over at his leisure. I don’t see why that girl gave me such a creature. Let’s get off and sit down on that rock and wait. Something’s bound to happen – sometime – if we live long enough. The folks’ll come back this same road, course.”

      He jumped to the ground and held out his hand to her but, for a moment, she would not dismount; then as he coolly left her and walked to the rock he had pointed out, she slipped from her saddle and followed him. But she still held fast to her bridle rein and the pony offered no resistance to the leading, though the big brute of the profane name remained in the middle of the road, his forefeet pointed forward, his hind ones backward, his whole attitude one of stubborn ugliness.

      Leslie had reached a point where the ludicrous side of things appeared and he remarked:

      “Looks like the potato-horses I used to make when I was a kid, with matches stuck in for legs. I wonder how long he’ll stand there!”

      Molly smiled faintly. At present there were no alarming sounds from the forest and the boy’s apparent indifference to their lonely situation relieved her own fears.

      “Well, it’s an ‘ill wind that blows nobody good,’ you know. That Beelzy thing is the toughest I ever rode. He’s bumped me up and down till I ache all over and this rock is actually soft in comparison. Here. I’ll put some of these big ferns for a cushion for you, and, after all, we’ll meet our folks just as soon by waiting as by going on. They must come back, you know, sure as fate. This is the only road leads to ‘Roderick’s’, I heard them say. Hello! Why – Beelzebub, good boy!”

      A whim had seized the obstinate animal to approach his late rider and fawn about his feet, nibbling the scant grass which grew there, as the pony was already doing. In surprise at this change both Leslie and Molly laughed and forgot, for the time, that they were in such a desolate place at so late an hour.

      The horse’s action reminded Molly of an animal her father had once owned and she began to tell stories about him; stories that the boy matched with marvelous ones of his own. That some of these were fiction made no difference. Molly disdained to believe them but they served to pass the time as well as any better ones might have done. Indeed, fear had now left them. The rest after their hard ride was pleasant and both felt that they were simply waiting for their friends’ return.

      So they sat on, as composedly as if they were safe at home, till Molly’s eyes, fixed upon the distant road, suddenly grew startled again.

      Leslie’s latest yarn had been of an Indian outbreak, or uprising, of recent date and in this neighborhood. He had heard it that evening from the men at the inn and had not paused to consider how unlikely was such an incident so near to the city of Denver. In truth, the “boys” had invented the whole story, just for the sake of impressing the young “tenderfeet” – Monty, Herbert and Leslie; and it had satisfied the jokers that these youngsters “swallered it hull.”

      But Leslie had a gift for dramatic recital and listening to him the affair seemed very real to the girl. The scene and the hour suggested a possible repetition of the occurrence; and as there now came to her ears the sound of distant hoofbeats on the road, and presently, to her eyes the sight of a company of horsemen approaching, she gave one terrified cry and darted into the forest behind her.

      “The Indians! The – Indians! They’ll kill us!”

      Moved by his own eloquence and still believing the story he had been told, the boy followed her flight. He did not even turn to look where she had pointed but, with a headlong rush, dashed into the wood and into a mass of briars which threw him face downward in their midst. Also, at that same instant both the deserted horses set up a continued neighing, which confirmed the fears of their riders who, both now prone upon the ground, felt that their last hour had come.

      CHAPTER IV

      THE WATCHERS AT RODERICK’S

      As soon as Molly and Leslie had ridden away, Mattie Roderick disappeared within her own room and became deaf to all the inquiries made outside her door. She was a high-spirited, “wild western” girl, accustomed to obeying little else than her own impulses. She had a fine record as a horsewoman and had been disappointed that she could not go with the searching party. This being the case, it was next better to lend her pony to that other lively girl who was so like herself.

      But Mrs. Roderick was certain that the missing Molly and Leslie had followed the first party and could give no comfort to anxious Mrs. Ford beyond the statement:

      “Things don’t happen often, ’twixt here an’ Denver. Been one or two hold-ups, of men known to carry money,