JULIE MAKES A CONQUEST

The scout party rode on and on along the Sky-line Trail, stopping frequently to gaze at the wonderful views to be had from this altitude. Reaching the place where another important trail crossed, Tally, for the second time in his experience as a Guide, decided upon the wrong trail as being the one to follow to reach Springer. But he was justified inasmuch as the trail he chose was the better one of the two from that point on. They had gone a long distance before any one questioned whether this could be the Old Santa FÉ Trail. As no one could tell they kept on going, often turning their heads to see if Ranger Sanderson was in sight. At last the sun was setting and they must locate a camp-site for the night; then it was decided that, as long as Sanderson had had all afternoon in which to overtake them, but had not taken advantage of the time, they would decide upon the first best spot where spring water was to be found.

Not long afterward Tally’s keen eyesight detected an attractive pine-grove a short distance off the trail where he declared they would find water. How he knew this to be so was a wonder to the girls. But that is the way with these Indian Guides!

Sure enough! in riding to the grove the scouts saw the reflection of sunbeams sparkling on a body of water. Then as they entered the woods the lake was lost to view. They rode on a short distance farther and, suddenly emerging from the girdle of trees, they spied a small lake of about a mile in length.

“Goot camp, eh, Boss?” said Tally, nodding at the sheet of water.

“Yes, Tally, and we’re ready for supper,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“All right, Boss, but we no camp here,” returned Tally. At the point where the Guide had discovered the lake, reeds and grasses hugged the shore, and from the quiet water a faint mist upcurled like a transparent veil. Gradually this veil spread until silently it enveloped everything along the edge of the water.

Tally now led the way along a faint wild trail that skirted the lake, and soon, the scouts came to a rippling stream which the horses had to ford. The scene was splendidly wild, and isolation hung like a curtain over everything. Mystic sounds chirruped at them as their horses went clipclopping over the hardened trail; finally they rode out to an open place which was enchanting in its beauty. The fast-fading reflections of the setting sun, purple and rose, which shimmered upon the bosom of the water touched this mist into a rosy aura.

“Here we mek camp,” announced Tally, reining in his horse.

The rest of the party dismounted and preparations were instantly begun for a night camp.

“Who will go for the fish?” asked the Captain.

“Oh, Gilly! do let some of us girls go with you!” cried Joan.

“That will have to be as the Captain says,” replied Mr. Gilroy.

“Two of you girls can go with Gilly, and two must remain here to assist me in making the beds,” said the Captain.

“I don’t want to fish,” said Betty; “I can’t bear to see the poor little things wriggle on the hook.”

“But you can bear to eat them when somebody else hooks them,” laughed Julie.

“Mees Betty, you no forget how to mek hemlock bed, eh?” asked Tally, as he arranged the cook-stove upon which to prepare dinner.

“Indeed I have not! Let the other girls go and fish, Tally, and I will show you how I can weave the tips as well as ever I did,” bragged Betty.

“I shall remain with Betty to cut the hemlock branches, while she makes the beds,” said Hester.

“Um-ra-m! me show you-all goot place for sleep,” hinted Tally; as he spoke he pointed to a sheltered nook made by a huge rock on one side, and a thick undergrowth of bushes and aspens on the other two sides; the fourth side was the approach from the clearing.

“Not far over dere you fin’ alla beddin’ you-all need,” explained the Indian, waving a hand at a clump of fine hemlocks.

Meanwhile Julie and Joan had gone with the two men to find a suitable place from which to fish. The sun had gone down, and the lake had changed from a warm rose hue to a chill gray. The silence which could be felt was broken only by the pulsating sounds from the woods. As they sought along the lake edge for a good place to stand, quite unexpectedly, from a tree directly overhead, a loon shrilled a warning to her mate across the lake. But the mate sent back his wild laughter at the unbased fears entertained by his wife. As the scouts moved slowly along, feeling as if they were one with the wild creatures of this spot, they almost forgot they were sent to fish for their supper.

But in a short time they had caught a goodly mess of fish and returned to camp. As the first day’s long ride had wearied them, no one wished to stir after supper, and Mr. Gilroy merely said: “Tally, are the horses all right for the night?”

“Sure! Tally fix hosses first,” returned the Guide.

Every one was soon asleep that night, and Tally knew not how long he had been sleeping when he suddenly sat up. He thought he heard one of the horses whinny, but all was quiet, so he stretched out again. Just before he dozed off, however, he wondered if, by any chance, a wild beast could sneak up and attack them. This thought caused him to dream fitfully and he started up again to satisfy his mind regarding the animals. Looking at his Ingersoll he found it was one o’clock in the morning.

Tally got up and found the ponies quiet and safe; but, to his great surprise, he heard a horse’s hoofs on the river trail. Hastily he climbed up on a high bowlder and from there he could glimpse the river sparkling in the last rays of the fading moon.

As he stood watching and listening for new revelations from the trail, he thought he saw the flash of a pocket searchlight. The whole discovery seemed so out of the ordinary to the Indian that he decided to creep along the faint lake-trail made by wild animals and reach the river-trail before the rider passed the spot where the two trails met. It was not mere curiosity which induced Tally to do this, but the inborn wariness of the Guide who feels he is responsible for his party.

He was none too soon, for, immediately after he had secreted himself and his horse back of some trees and brush, the steady gleaming of an electric light reflected on the trail along which a horse was heard approaching. Tally placed his coat over his own horse’s head to keep him from calling to his comrade on the trail.

When the stranger’s horse reached the place where the two trails joined, it stopped, turned its head in the direction of the lake and whistled softly. In a moment the reply from one of the ponies hobbled at the lake reached Tally’s ears. He swore under his breath at this unexpected incident, then he had a further surprise.

“Ah, good old Snubby! You’ve told me where to find them,” spoke a young man’s voice, sounding familiar to the Guide.

“Dat’s Range San’son!” was Tally’s thought, as he hastily caught the bridle of his horse’s head and led him out to confront the newcomer.

“Halt!” commanded the Ranger, flashing his light over in the direction of the unexpected horse and rider.

“Is’s onny Tally, Mees’r San’son,” called the Guide.

“Tally! Good for you, old man! Now you can take me to the camp,” replied Sanderson, eagerly.

“Whad wrong, Mees’r San’son, mek you not ride with scouts?” asked the Indian.

“Why, Tally, you took the wrong trail, and I rode all the way down the old Santa FÉ Trail only to discover that you had not gone that way. Then I rode all the way back to the Forks and discovered the tracks your horses made down the Cimarron Trail.”

“Mees’r San’son, you say I go wrong way?” gasped Tally, dubiously.

“Yes, Tally; but in the long run it will prove to be the pleasanter route, because the scouts can trail along the Red River which crosses this road a little farther on, and go almost as far as Springer before leaving it to travel on the more public road.”

“Now we ride to camp and sleep, eh?” suggested the Indian.

“I’ll be glad to get myself a cup of coffee, as I did not stop to eat or drink,” remarked the Ranger, turning his horse’s head to follow the Guide.

“Yeh—too bad!” said Tally, but the night hid his face as he spoke. If it had not the Ranger might have felt slightly embarrassed at the quizzical expression in the eyes of the Guide.

The two horses, with their riders, clip-clopped along the trail to the lake and reached camp, where Tally started to brew the coffee, while Sanderson led the animals over to corral them with the others.

While enjoying the coffee, the two men whispered of the joys of mountain trailing: Tally, of his unexpected good fortune in finding such a splendid company to guide that summer; and Sanderson in having found such a splendid company with which he could travel. Finally the embers of the fire were covered, and both men then stretched out upon the grass to sleep.

Because of Sanderson’s night ride, and because of Tally’s interrupted sleep, both men slept heavily and never awoke when the scouts began to move around. Mrs. Vernon and the girls, without a glance in the direction of the camp fire, ran to the lake and, donning bathing suits, took an early morning swim. The water was cold as ice, and a plunge was more than enough to satisfy every one in the party. Consequently, shivering and with teeth chattering, they rushed back to the small dressing-tent to have a brisk rub-down in order to start circulation again.

In a short time they were dressed. Mrs. Vernon, who was buckling her ridingboots, called after the girls to advise them.

“Betty, you rouse Gilly and Uncle, will you? And Hester, you help Tally with breakfast, while Julie and Jo go catch a mess of fish.”

The girls ran away to do as their Captain had instructed. But Tally had anticipated the call, and was already up when Hester came to arouse him. He turned to her as he was fumbling with the campstove, which was belching smoke from its little pipe, and said: “Somebuddy go ketch trout for brekfas’?”

“Yes, Tally, the girls are going, I think,” answered Hester.

“Tally, did you try the temperature of the stream just below camp?” called Mr. Vernon, curling up under his blanket in the chill of the early morning air.

“Shore! he’em fine an’ warm, Boss,” laughed the Guide.

“All right, then! turn on the faucet and I’ll use my luxurious tiled bath very shortly,” replied Mr. Vernon.

“He’s right, Tally,” retorted Mr. Gilroy, poking his head out from under his blankets; “his bath will be short—on this frosty morn.”

“Both you lazy men ought to be ashamed to have five scouts up and dressed before you even dream of ordering your daily bath,” called Mrs. Vernon from the tent which had been turned into a ladies’ dressing-room.

“How can we get up, when we have no valet or dressing-room?” replied Mr. Vernon.

“We are going to fish now, so you men can have the use of our tent while we are landing the trout,” said Julie, going over to the place where the fishing tackle had been left by Mr. Vernon and Mr. Gilroy the night before.

As a clump of trees and bushes intervened between the sleeping quarters for the scouts and the camp fire, Julie was unaware of a visitor until she, calling to the Guide, rushed around the screen foliage.

“Tally! I want to borrow your fish-pole! Where is it?”

Sanderson sat bolt upright at the girlish voice. He was accustomed to sudden and unexpected calls during his sleep, hence he was trained to rouse quickly.

“Oh!” gasped Julie, surprised at finding the young Ranger there. “Oh, where did you come from?”

“Good-morning. Miss Julie,” returned he, scrambling to his feet, and hastily trying to smooth his disheveled hair.

“Me fin’ Mees’r San’son losted las’ night,” said Tally, explaining the presence of the disconcerted visitor. “He come alla way down, to fin’ us an’ hees hoss call for help. Poor Ranger! He ride alla night to ketch us up.”

Then Sanderson added his explanations to those of the Indian and by the time he had concluded he had regained his composure.

“Well, this isn’t catching fish for breakfast,” returned Julie, laughingly. “I came for Tally’s rod, and now I find I have another mouth to fill.”

Tally went over to fetch his rod, but he smiled to himself as he muttered a contradiction to Julie’s words: “Ye’es, this iss catching fish! You hook one great beeg fish, Mees Jule, what you not eat for brekfas’.”

“What did you say, Tally?” demanded Julie. “I heard you say something about not eating fish for breakfast, but you shall, if I know it!”

Tally chuckled as he handed her the pole and tackle. And the girl sped away to join Joan, who was on her way to the water.

Mr. Gilroy had heard a stranger’s voice in conversation with Julie and now he appeared at the camp fire. “Well, for goodness’ sake!” exclaimed he, when he saw who the stranger was.

Sanderson laughed and flushed, as if all the world must know the true reason for his being there. He explained about the wrong trail and then described the attractions of the Red River trail.

“Why, that’s great! We’ll all go this way if you have the time to trail with us,” was Mr. Gilroy’s hearty endorsement.

Joan and Julie seemed to have bad luck with the fish that morning, but the truth of the matter was that Julie could not keep quiet. She was too full of merry gossip about the good-looking Ranger who had appeared so unexpectedly in camp.

“You know, Jo, he kept looking at me all the time he explained, till even Tally could see what was doing!” giggled Julie, casting for a trout in a spot that looked promising.

“He is so tall and handsome, Julie, that I am almost jealous of you,” declared Joan, her interest entirely engaged by the hope of an imminent romance instead of the duty of fishing for the present need.

“He certainly seems to be all eyes for me, doesn’t he?” was Julie’s laughing reply. “I am not quite at ease when he is around, Jo. Now, Phil Morton, the associate editor on our home paper—you know, the one who thought I was just cut out for a journalist—showed very plainly how much he liked me, but he wasn’t forever staring at me and afraid to speak.”

Joan tittered. “Give Sandy time, Jule; we only met him yesterday, remember. Most of our afternoon up on Raton passed while the Ranger was away hunting for food. He only had a few short opportunities in which to take note of your charms.”

“Oh, stop your nonsense!” retorted Julie, whipping the trout-line back and forth in the water.

“Look out! Oh, Julie—see there, now!” cried Joan, impatiently, as both lines and hooks became entangled.

Julie laughed as she hauled in the lines and started to undo the snarl.

“Isn’t this just like love? One minute you’re all right and never dreaming of a tangle; along comes a fine young Ranger and, pronto! the tackle jumps around and there you are!”

The two lines were separated as she ended her sermonette; then Joan said: “Come on back. We can’t fish this morning, while we know Hesty and Betty have Sanderson all to themselves. Here we are missing all the fun and they’re right in it”

Without demur, Julie followed after her chum, and soon they appeared in camp. “No fish this morning,” declared Julie, as she placed Tally’s rod against a tree.

“Oh, girls! did you really try?” asked Mrs. Vernon.

“I should say we did! Why, I almost wore out the line while working it,” declared Julie, positively.

The men stood and gazed at the lake in amazement. Mr. Vernon then said: “I could swear the lake was full of fish, Gilly.”

“Come on, Sanderson, let’s you and I go try our luck,” responded Mr. Gilroy. “It will only delay breakfast for a short time.”

So, without another word the two men took the discarded rods and walked away, while Julie and Joan stood and watched them go, disapproval plainly expressed on their faces. Tally gave them a look, comprehending the situation, and smiled to himself as he bent over the fire to turn the bread-twist.

“Come, girls, let’s pack the duffle-bags and take down the tent while we’re waiting for breakfast,” suggested Mrs. Vernon, seeing the two returned fishers had nothing to do.

It was not long before the fishermen were seen coming back, displaying several fat trophies of trout which had been caught in that short length of time.

“It doesn’t seem like fishing, Verny, where so many trout are simply waiting for the hook. If one had a net, they could scoop them up—they’re that thick,” declared Mr. Gilroy.

“That’s the kind of fishing I like,” laughed the Captain. “Where the fish swim up to you and quarrel with each other as to which shall be the first to hook itself.”

Young Sanderson helped serve the breakfast, but most of his attention was given to Julie’s words and actions. In fact, so apparent was the good-looking young Ranger’s attraction to the vivacious girl that Mr. Vernon chuckled as he nudged Mr. Gilroy in the ribs.

“Julie’s made a conquest, all right. I fear we’ll have to take the Ranger along as an extra guide, because he’ll refuse to be left behind,” whispered Mr. Gilroy.

Breakfast over, the Captain said: “Gilly, are we going down the Cimarron trail, or are you thinking of changing our plans?”

“Why, we’ll go on just as Sandy directs, when you’re ready and say the word,” replied Mr. Gilroy.

Thus they were trailing again by nine o’clock, Ranger Sanderson all smiles and gayety, riding beside Julie. She, the little minx, enjoyed his attentions and tantalized him with her mischievous eyes. Now and then Mr. Gilroy would rein in his horse in order to ride abreast with these laggards. At such times he tried valiantly to signal Julie that she must not flirt so heartlessly with the poor chap, but the laughing girl would give him a whimsical look in return.

The trail was excellent and no adverse conditions arose to impede or delay the progress of the scouts along the way. The Ranger proved to be a valuable addition to the party, as he knew most of the ranches near the trail, and was well versed with legends and stories of every point of interest to be seen as they rode through this mecca in adventurous times of the past.

It was Sanderson who made the Old Trail seem to pulse once more with the life of other days, in which the stage-coach and the great caravans coming from Kansas City and Denver to Santa FÉ had to travel by this great Sky-line. The girls saw the Indians and the outlaws of those pioneer days, as they attacked the whites, or raided a traders’ caravan. But it was through the Ranger’s eyes of the imagination that they saw these vivid pictures.

He pointed out the El Capulin volcano, which was a short ride from Raton City, but not to be included in the sight-seeing now. He tried to induce the tourists to ride to Taos by the ancient trail that ran direct from Raton, but the scouts preferred to go to the Pecos ruins and caÑon first, then up to the pueblo of Taos later. It was Sanderson who, from the crest of Raton, pointed out the wonderful view of the Spanish Peaks, the Taos Range and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. He directed their gaze to Fisher’s Peak and told how it had been named for the officer in the Army of the West; how Simpson’s Rest was a monument of nature’s work in honor of the old pioneer who was buried on its summit. He pointed to the great bluffs across the Las Animas River where, in 1866, the Ute Indians fought the settlers. Then he told them how the river came to have its name. Sanderson spoke Spanish fluently and he interpreted the meaning of the old name into English for the girls: “River of Lost Souls”—in memory of the Spaniards who in the eighteenth century lost their lives in the crossing of the river.

It was not to be wondered at, therefore, that the scouts were intensely thankful that they had met such a delightful young man to trail with them, and they each and every one hoped that no untoward act from any source whatever could ruin this splendid opportunity to enjoy his company.

Not one of the girls felt jealous of Julie and the “lion’s share” of attention which Sanderson paid her, but every girl in the group tried to show the Ranger that she, too, was alive and eager to have his smiles and expressive glances, when he found it possible to take them from Julie and share them meagerly with others.

While Sandy enjoyed Julie’s companionship, he remembered the Government had first claim on his time. His duty was to interpret for and to guide the man he was to meet at Springer or Las Vegas, and secure such statistics as would be valuable for the righting of the wrong done the Pueblo Indians; consequently, he felt that he had no right to pay attention to a pretty girl, while his work remained unfinished.

Thus the entire scout-party rode into Springer, as the newspapers would say, “without any casualties,” either to soul or body; but there lurked a germ of love in Sanderson’s heart, for which no vaccine has yet been discovered.