  “Is that all there is to the town of Redfords?” Jane gasped when the stage, leaving Toboggan Grade, reached a small circular valley which was apparently surrounded on all sides by towering timber-covered mountains. A stream of clear, sparkling water rushed and swirled on its way through the narrow, barren, rock-strewn lowland. The rocks, the very dust of the road, were of a reddish cast. “That road yonder climbs your mountain in a zig-zag fashion, and then circles around it to the old abandoned mining camp.” Then to Gerald, he said: “Youngster, if you’re pining for mystery, that’s where you ought to find one. That deserted mining camp always looks to me as though it must have a secret, perhaps more than one, that it could tell and will not.” “Ohee!” squealed Julie. “How interesting! Gerry and I are wild to find a mystery to unravel. Why do you think that old mining camp has secrets, Mr. Packard?” Smiling at the little girl’s eagerness, the rancher replied: “Because it looks so deserted and haunted.” Then to Dan, “You heard what Gabby said at the depot. Well, he did not exaggerate. A rich vein of gold was found on the other side of your mountain, and a throng of men came swarming in from everywhere, and just overnight, or so it seemed, buildings of every description were erected. They did not take time to make them of permanent logs, though there are a few of that description. For several months they worked untiringly, digging, blasting, searching everywhere, but the vein which had promised so much ended abruptly. “Of course, when the horde of men found that there was no gold, they departed as they had come. For a time after that a wandering tribe of Ute Indians lived there, but the hunting was poor, and as they, too, moved on farther into the Rockies, where there are many fertile valleys. Only one old Indian, of whom Gabby spoke, has remained. They call him Slinking Coyote. Why he stayed behind when his tribe went in search of better hunting grounds surely is a mystery.” Julie gave another little bounce of joy. “Oh, goodie!” she cried. “Gerry, there’s two mysteries and maybe we’ll find the answers to both of them.” “I would rather find something to eat,” Jane said rather peevishly. “I never was obliged to wait so long for my breakfast in all my life. It’s one whole hour since we left the train.” She glanced at her wrist watch as she spoke. Mr. Packard looked at her meditatively. The other three Abbotts were as amiable as any young people he had ever met, but Jane was surely the most fretful and discontented. Although he knew nothing of all that had happened, he could easily see that she, at least, was in the West quite against her will. “Well, my dear young lady,” he said as he reached for her bag, “you won’t have long to wait, for even now we are in the town, approaching the inn.” “What?” Jane’s eyes were wide and unbelieving. “Is this wretched log cabin place the only hotel?” She peered out of the stage window and saw two cowboys lounging on the porch, and each was chewing a toothpick. They were picturesquely dressed in fringed buckskin trousers, soft shirts, carelessly knotted bandannas and wide Stetson hats. Their ponies were tied in front, as were several other lean, restless horses. Mr. Packard nodded. “Yes, this is the inn and the general store and the postoffice. Across the road is another building just like it and that has a room in front which is used as a church on Sunday and a school on weekdays, while in back there is a billiard room. There are no saloons now,” this was addressed to Dan, “which is certainly a good thing for Redfords.” “Billiard room, church and a school house all in one building,” Jane repeated in scornful amazement. “But where are the houses? Where do the townspeople live?” Mr. Packard smiled at her. “There aren’t any,” he said. “The ranchers, cowboys, mountaineers and summer tourists are the patrons of the inn and billiard rooms. But here we are!” The stage had stopped in front of the rambling log building and reluctantly Jane followed the others. Mr. Packard held the screen door open for the young people to pass, then, taking Jane’s arm, he piloted her through the front part of the building, which was occupied by the postoffice and store, to the room in the rear, where were half a dozen bare tables. Each had in the center a vinegar cruet, a sugar bowl, salt and pepper shakers. At least they were clean, but the dishes were so coarse that had not Jane been ravenously hungry, she told herself, she simply could not have eaten. Mr. Packard led the way to the largest table, at which there were six places, and as soon as they were seated a comely woman entered through a swinging green baize door. “Howdy, Mr. Packard?” she said in response to the rancher’s cordial greeting. “Jean Sawyer, your foreman, was in last night an’ left your hoss for yo’. He said as how he was expectin’ yo’ in some time today. You’ve fetched along some visitors, I take it.” The woman looked at the older girl with unconcealed admiration. The blood rushed to Jane’s face. Was this innkeeper’s wife going to tell her that she had never seen but one other girl who was more beautiful? But Mrs. Bently made no personal comment. When Mr. Packard explained that his companions were the young Abbotts, and that they were to spend the summer in a cabin on Redford Mountain, her only remark was: “Is it the cabin that’s been standin’ empty so long, the one that’s a short piece down from where Meg Heger lives?” “Yes, that’s it, Mrs. Bently.” Then the man implored: “Please bring us some of your good ham and eggs and coffee and——” “There’s plenty of waffle dough left, if the young people likes ’em.” The woman smiled at Julie, who beamed back at her. “Oh, boy!” Gerald chimed in. “Me for the waffles!” The cooking was excellent and even the fastidious Jane thoroughly enjoyed the breakfast. When they emerged from the inn, Dan said, regretfully: “The sun is high up. We’ve missed our first sunrise.” “We were on the Toboggan Grade when the sun rose,” Mr. Packard told them. He then shook hands with Jane and Dan as he said heartily: “Here is where we part company. That is my horse over yonder. A beauty, isn’t he? Silver, I call him. By the way, Dan, I want you to meet Jean Sawyer. He is just about your age, and a fine fellow, if I am a judge of character. I would trust him with anything I have. In fact, I do. I send him all the way to the city often, to get money from the bank to pay off the men. I know he isn’t dishonest, and yet, for some reason, he ran away from his home. You know, we have a code out here by which each man is permitted to keep his own counsel. “We ask no one from whence he came or why. We take people for what they seem to be, with no knowledge of their past.” Then, breaking off abruptly, the older man repeated: “I would, indeed, like you to meet Jean and tell me what you think of him. Come over to our place soon, or, better still, since that is a rough trip until you get hardened to the saddle, I’ll send him over to call on you next Sunday.” Dan’s face brightened. “Great, Mr. Packard; do that! A chap whom you so much admire must be worth knowing. Have him take dinner with us. Goodbye, and thank you for being our much-needed guide.” When their neighbor and friend had swung into his saddle and had ridden away, Jane said fretfully: “I don’t see why you asked that Jean Sawyer, who may be an outlaw, for all we know, to come over to our place for dinner.” Then, when she saw the expression of troubled disappointment in her brother’s face, again the small voice within rebuked her, and she implored: “Oh, Dan, don’t mind me! I know I am horridly selfish, but I am so tired, and these people are all so queer. What are we to do next?” The older lad knew what an effort Jane was making, and he held her arm affectionately close as he replied: “Mr. Packard said that the stage would call for us at 8:30. We will have half an hour to purchase our supplies. Grandmother made out a list of things we would need. Julie has that. Jane, here is my wallet. I wish you would take charge of our funds. You won’t be climbing around as I will. It will be safer with you.” Together the girls went into the store and purchased the supplies they would need. Then they rejoined the boys, who had waited outside. Gerry wanted to look in the school house. The Abbotts found the door of the rambling log cabin across from the inn standing open, and they peered in curiously. The room was long and well lighted by large windows, but it was quite like any other country school. There were eight rows of benches, one back of the other, with a shelf-like desk in front of each. These had many an initial carved in them. The teacher’s table and chair faced the others, with a blackboard hanging on the wall at the back. Near the door was a pail and a dipper. Dan smiled. “It doesn’t look as though genius could be awakened here, does it?” he was saying, when a pleasant voice back of them caused them to turn. “You’re wrong there, my friend.” The young people saw before them a withered-up little old man with the whitest of hair reaching to his shoulders. Noting their unconcealed astonishment, he continued, by way of introduction, “I am Preacher Bellows on Sunday and Teacher Bellows on weekdays. Now, as I was saying, having overheard your remark, this little schoolroom and the teacher who presides over it are proud to tell you that your statement is not correct. It may not look as though genius could be awakened here,” he smiled most kindly. “I’ll agree that it does not, but that is just what has happened. Meg Heger, one of my mountain girls, has written some beautiful things. Her last composition, ‘Sunrise From the Rim-Rock,’ is truly poetical.” Jane turned away impatiently. Was she never to be through with hearing about Meg Heger? “Brother,” the manner in which she interrupted the conversation was almost rude, “isn’t that the stage returning? I am so tired, I do want to get up to our cabin.” She started to cross the street. Dan quickly joined her. He did not rebuke her for not having said goodbye to the teacher. “He’s a nice man, isn’t he, Dan?” Gerald skipped along by his brother’s side as he spoke. “He loves mountain people, doesn’t he?” Dan smiled down at the eager questioner. “Why, of course, he must, if he practices what I suppose he preaches; the brotherhood of man.” “Well, I certainly don’t want to claim people like the ones we have met in Redfords as any kin of mine,” Jane snapped as they all crossed to the stage that awaited them. Again the four white horses drooped their heads and the driver slouched on his high seat, as though at every opportunity they took short naps. But the horses came to life when the driver snapped his long whip and with much jolting they forded the stream. “Oh, my; I’m ’cited as anything!” Julie squealed. “Wish something, Gerald, ’cause this is the first time we’ve ever been up our very own mountain road.” “There’s just one thing to wish for,” the small boy said with the seriousness which now and then made him seem older than his years, “and that’s that Dan will get well. What do you wish, Jane?” “Why, the same thing, of course,” the girl replied languidly. Gerald continued his questioning. “What do you wish, Dan?” The boy thought for a moment and then he exclaimed, “I have a wonderful thing to wish. Wouldn’t it be great if we could find the lost gold vein on our very own ten acres? Then Dad could pay the rest that he owes and be free from all worry?” “Me, too,” Julie cried jubilantly. “Now, we’ve all wished and here we go up the mountain.” The road was narrow. In some places it was barely wide enough for the stage to pass, and, as Jane looked back and down, she shuddered many times. At last, when nothing happened and the old stage did stick to the road, Jane consented to look around at the majestic scenery, about which the others were exclaiming. Beyond the gorge-like valley in which was Redfords, one mountain range towered above another, while many peaks were crowned with snow, dazzling in the light of the sun that was now high above them. The air was becoming warmer, but it was so wonderfully clear that even things in the far distance stood out with remarkable detail. At a curve, Gerald pointed to the road where it circled above them. “Gee-whiliker! Look-it!” he cried excitedly. “How that boy can ride.” The others, turning, saw a pony which seemed to be running at breakneck speed, but as the stage appeared around the bend, the small horse was halted so suddenly that it reared. When it settled back on all fours, the watchers saw that, instead of a boy, the rider was a girl, slender of build, wiry, alert. She drew to one side close to the mountain, to permit the stage to pass. She wore a divided skirt of the coarsest material, a scarlet blouse but no hat. Her glossy black wind-blown hair fluttered loosely about her slim shoulders. Her dusky eyes looked curiously out at them from between long curling lashes. Dan thought he had never before seen such wonderful eyes, but it only took a moment for the stage to pass. They all turned to look down the road. The pony was again leaping ahead as sure-footed, evidently, as a mountain goat, the girl leaning low in the saddle. Jane’s lips were curled scornfully. “Well, if that is their mountain beauty, I think they have queer taste! She looked to me very much like an Indian, didn’t she to you, Dan?” The boy replied frankly: “I should say she might be Spanish or French, but I do indeed think she is wonderfully beautiful. I never saw such eyes. They seem to have slumbering soul-fires just waiting to be kindled. I should like to hear her talk.” Jane shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I certainly should not. I have heard enough of this mountain dialect, if that’s what you call it, to last me the rest of my life. I simply will not make the acquaintance of that—Oh, it doesn’t matter what she is—” she hurried on to add when she saw that Dan was about to speak. “I don’t want to know her, and do please remember that, all of you!” “Gee, sis,” Gerald blurted out, “you don’t like the West much, do you? I s’pose you wish you had stayed at home or gone to that hifalutin watering place.” Jane bit her lips to keep from retorting angrily. Julie was still watching the small horse that now and then reappeared as the zigzagging mountain road far below them came in sight. “That girl’s going to school, I guess. Though I should think it would be vacation time, now it’s summer,” she remarked. “I rather believe that winter is vacation time for mountain schools. It’s mighty cold here for a good many months and the roads are probably so deep in snow that they are not passable.” Dan had just said this when Gerald, who had been kneeling on the seat, watching intently ahead, whirled toward them with a cry of joy. “There’s our log cabin on that ledge up there! I bet you ’tis! Gee-whiliker, we’re stopping. Hurray! It’s ours.” |
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