ON THE OLD SANTA FÉ TRAIL

True to instinct, the Indian horse-trader came into Trinidad early the next morning, driving, coaxing, and kicking a string of sleek Mexican ponies. Then he sent word to the scout-party at the hotel that he was ready to bargain with the gentlemen.

“Tally, you’ve got to stand by us in this lottery, because we want to carry off the Grand Prize, you know,” laughed Mr. Vernon, when he heard the verbal message.

“He no get dead beat f’om my Boss—not if Tally know he’em,” vowed the guide, fervently. Mr. Vernon and Mr. Gilroy laughed heartily at the Indian’s ambiguous remark, and Tally, not sure of that word “lottery,” or “Grand Prize,” laughed, too.

But the trader was not as tricky as his profession painted him. In fact, Tally managed to secure most excellent terms for his Boss. Mr. Gilroy contracted with the man for the nine ponies and three burros while in New Mexico or Arizona at the rate of $20-$30 each per month. This was more than the rental of the burros was worth, but the owner agreed to pay freight all the way from Gallup, which is in the western part of New Mexico, or from Flagstaff or Williams in Arizona, to reclaim his property. Should Mr. Gilroy decide to rent the animals for a fraction of a month thereafter he would only pay for the actual time he had the beasts in use.

“Well!” declared Mr. Vernon, when everything had been satisfactorily settled, and they were free to start from Trinidad whenever they pleased, “that is the first honest horse-dealer I ever met, or heard of.”

“He’em N’ Mex’co injun, da’s why,” said Tally.

“How about those of Arizona?” laughed Mr. Gilroy.

“Oh, he’em alla good. Navajo, ZuÑi, Hopi—alle heer mos’ good,” explained Tally, conscientiously.

Mr. Vernon remembered an important item as the three men returned to the hotel where the scouts were eagerly waiting to hear the result of the horse-deal.

“The harness and saddle-bags for those mules and burros would have cost us more than we’re going to pay in rent,” said he to Mr. Gilroy.

“That’s what I figured when he named his price. We won’t need mounts nor harness once we are through the outing. Last summer we had to sell the horses and fittings for a song, when we got back to Estes Park. This business arrangement is better all-round for us, and relieves us of any concern when we are through with the animals.

“How about accidents to one of them?” asked Mr. Vernon.

“The trader knows little about insuring his ponies, but I shall do that before we leave Trinidad.”

Hence Mr. Gilroy sought out an insurance agent, and had him insure not only the ponies and the burros for three months against injury and death, but the harness, as well, was insured against loss and damage. These papers were sent to the Indian to keep in case he had to claim damages during the period of insurance.

That evening Tally reported that he and his stores were ready for an early morning start. The scouts had secured the various items they needed for the outing, and the two men said they were ready at any time. The night-clerk in the hotel was told to call the tourists at four the next morning, as they were eager to get away.

Tally had purchased the tents and camp equipment in Trinidad, and had the ponies saddled and waiting just outside the town proper; the three little burros, well-laden, looked more like ants carrying elephants than anything able to crawl up peaks and down perpendicular ravines. As before, when visiting the Rockies, the girls felt sorry for the little pack animals that appeared too slender and weak to stand any strain or fatigue. And, as before, Tally laughed at their misplaced sympathies.

Having had a hearty breakfast with which to start the day, the scouts were eager for the adventures before them. The horses had the regulation western saddles and the girls, wearing sensible clothing for riding—loose flannel shirts, knickerbockers, and high boots—rode cross-saddle.

Tally led off along the road that followed the railroad to Raton Mountain; Julie and Joan riding at each side of him while plying him with questions.

“Tally, do you know the names of our ponies and the burros?” asked Julie.

“Um-m-m, sure, Mees Jule,” was the guide’s reply, after a short hesitation.

“Tally! what does that ‘um-m-m’ mean?” demanded Julie, suspiciously.

“Oh, heem! dat mean me try rememmer alla dem names. Nine, ten, ’lefen, twelf names alla hard,” returned the Indian, innocent of face, but ready to burst out laughing.

“Tell me the name of mine, and of the three burros, and I won’t bother you about the others,” said Julie.

“Lem’me see!” began Tally, meditatively. Then he said:

“Oh, yess! me rememmer now. Dat pony you ride have white spot on face, so my fren’ name him White Star. Dat firs’ burro what carry tents, he call Slow Poke. Anudder what have cook-stove an’ deeshes he call Spark. Dat las’ burro is call Nuttin—short fer Good-fer-nuttin’, you see?”

Joan, watching Tally’s expression, tittered aloud now, and the guide turned to see if she suspected him of guile. She glanced away quickly and looked around over her shoulder at the cavalcade behind. When she could control her voice she spoke.

“And what do you call my pony, and your own, Tally?”

“You’se, Miss Jo, iss call Sweetie; an’ my mule iss name Stick. He’em ack lak’a block of wood, see?” explained Tally, endeavoring to assure Joan of the truth of his statements.

Both the girls laughed merrily.

“Then Jo’s pony must taste like sugar,” declared Julie, “though, goodness knows, I’ve heard that mule-steak is awful!”

“Um-m-m! So dey say,” agreed Tally.

At this moment Mr. Gilroy urged his pony forward to join the guide. Mr. Vernon had told him something he had heard from a man in Kansas City.

“Tally, do you know whether we can get a good view from the peak of Raton Mountain? Some one told Mr. Vernon it wasn’t worth the climb. I believed the Old Santa FÉ Trail had been converted to a sky-line drive that runs along the crest of Raton Range for twenty-six miles.”

“Some on he’em man not know better. Mebbe he’em eyes not gude, eh?” chuckled Tally. “Fines’ view in west we get f’om Raton Crest.”

“If you say it’s worth while we’ll go on, because we’ve got all summer before us,” returned Mr. Gilroy.

They followed the Old Santa FÉ Trail for hours, then, being hungry, they chose the camp-site for this their first meal out in the open that season. Julie stood and gazed at the imposing peaks before her.

“Well, Gilly, I really wouldn’t have known we were out of Colorado, or away from the peaks north of Estes Park. ‘They all look alike to me.’” Julie sang the last words to the rag-time song.

“You won’t say that when you go farther south in New Mexico or Arizona,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“It can’t be said that we are over the border of the state-line yet,” added Mr. Vernon. “I may be in New Mexico and you in Colorado. Perhaps that is why you can’t see the difference in the scenery.” Shortly after the amateur mountaineers had prepared to cook the dinner they saw, to their surprise, a Forest Ranger coming over the trail in the direction of their camp.

“Good-day, friends,” was the pleasant greeting from the tall young man in government uniform.

“Good-morning, sir,” responded Mr. Gilroy, acting as speaker for the group. “I trust we are not breaking the law by camping here?”

“Oh, no! I am on my way up the old trail, but I saw you selecting a site, and I thought I’d be neighborly and tell you where to hook a few good fish for dinner.”

“Now that’s mighty good of you! And in return for your favor maybe you’ll stop and sup with us,” was Mr. Gilroy’s hearty response.

“I’d like to right well, but I am taking a vacation which is granted me for the purpose of attending to an important investigation for the Government. It is no secret, therefore I have no hesitation in telling you that it concerns the future of our Pueblo Indians. I am to meet a man at Springer who wishes me to give him valuable information which I am fortunate to have from personal acquaintance with the different pueblos in New Mexico,” explained the young man frankly.

“How very interesting it would be to have your company with us on this ride to Springer, for that is the very place we plan to make before taking the train again,” said Mr. Vernon.

“Have you any idea of the distance, and the riding this trail will mean for the young ladies?” asked the Ranger in amazement.

“We became acquainted with such trails last summer in the Rockies,” replied Mr. Gilroy. Then he told the young man of all the trails the girl scouts had followed in his company and with Tally to guide them. He spoke of the grizzly which was shot, of the little bear cubs sent to the zoo in the east, of the canoe trips, and the other wonderful experiences they had shared in common, and when he had ended his story the Ranger smiled.

“I reckon you are immune from back-sliding when a night is dark, or when the sun blazes down on the trail,” said he.

“You have not yet said whether you will join our party,” said Mr. Vernon, who had taken a sudden fancy to the young fellow.

“You ought to know who I am first. I’m Tom Sanderson, a graduate in the class of engineering at the University of Albuquerque; I accepted the post of Forest Ranger for the summer, but I hope to start my real job in the Fall.”

“Where are you located on forest duty?” asked Mr. Gilroy.

“I have been on the Cimarron Range for a time, now I am to attend to this Pueblo business, and then go up to Panchuelo and supervise the Rangers there who will have to construct a few bridges,” explained the Ranger.

“That’s where we’re bound for. We shall follow this trail over the mountain and go down through the Cimarron Valley as far as Springer, then we had expected to take the train to Las Vegas, and from there go up the Pecos Valley to the mountains,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“As long as we are going the same way it would be pleasant to have you join us,” said Mr. Vernon.

The young Ranger glanced curiously at Mrs. Vernon and the four good-looking girls with her, so Mr. Gilroy introduced himself and his friends in a general way.

“Well, I don’t suppose any one will take me to account for my time if I should decide to linger along the way with you,” remarked the Ranger. As he spoke he led his horse over to the group of horses which had been tethered under the trees. When he came back to the impromptu camp, he said: “If you’re ready, Mr. Gilroy, I’ll show where the trout are as thick as flies on molasses.”

“Just a moment, Ranger, till I get my rods and flies,” said Mr. Gilroy, running to get the tackle.

Mr. Vernon accompanied the two, and soon the three were out of sight in the forest.

“How do you like the portable cook-stove, Tally?” asked Mrs. Vernon, walking over to the guide, who was cooking.

“Personally, Verny, I think it will prove a great accelerator of mealtime,” said Julie laughingly; “but Tally vows he has no use for new-fangled ways of roughing it.”

Joan added: “Tally’s like the man who swore he’d never pay the bills for having modern plumbing installed in his home, after his wife had ordered it; yet he monopolized the bath-tub every morning to the inconvenience of his family; and he had his meals served on a tray as he sat right over the register of hot air in the dining-room; the others ate at the table and shivered.”

“Looks as if he had been swearing at the cost,” chuckled Hester.

“But that isn’t Tally’s case,” retorted Mrs. Vernon. “The burro pays the price of having a stove in camp; all we do is to unload it and give it plenty of wood to burn.”

Presently the three men returned with a splendid catch of trout which they brought over to the Indian to prepare for the lunch. Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Vernon seemed to have become well acquainted with the Ranger during their little fishing excursion; and during the luncheon the girl scouts also came under the spell woven by this interesting young man’s personality.

There were many a merry laugh and jest during the time the dishes were being washed and all signs of the midday meal removed; then the Ranger and Tally destroyed every vestige of the camp fire, before the entire party climbed into their saddles and rode away from the camping spot.

“How glorious is life up here,” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon, inhaling a deep breath.

“I should say so!” agreed Mr. Vernon, fervently.

“No wonder you Forest Rangers are such fine chaps. Who could be sickly or small when living on heights so near to God,” declared Mr. Gilroy, and Sanderson flushed at such praise.

As they began to climb to the crest of Raton, the birds were flashing back and forth overhead, industriously seeking dinner for their young. The fragrant verdure, the slanting sunbeams as they seemed to search through the crannies of cliffs and chasms, the sudden flash of a wild thing scuttling away from the trail, all served to exhilarate the riders.

“This is a mighty good trail,” remarked Mr. Vernon.

“This is the best and greatest trail known,” remarked the Ranger. “Wait till we gain the crest— I’ll say no more.”

“Mr. Sanderson, we heard last summer that a trail once made by human feet will forever keep its peculiarity so that it never becomes completely overgrown again. On the other hand, it is said that the trails worn by forest creatures will, after being abandoned, become obliterated by growth of young trees and brush,” said Julie.

“That’s what people say, but I can hardly believe it,” returned Sanderson. “If you were a Forest Ranger and had to build the roads we do, you would forget all about these other kind of trails. We Rangers have to clear away all obstructions in making a trail, and build the road in such a way that it will be permanent. Then we have to see that these trails are kept clear of rubbish and undergrowth.”

They came to a belt of forest where the light seemed to take on a greenish tinge from the thick, interlaced branches overhead. After riding through this for a time, the sound of rushing, falling waters could be heard.

“Let’s find it!” exclaimed Julie, eagerly.

“It must be a high fall to make such a noise,” added Betty.

“Tally, you scout for the torrent and, should it be accessible, we will follow and get a snapshot of it,” advised Mrs. Vernon. Then Sanderson spoke.

“You’ll find the falls over there, a short half-mile from here; but you’d better leave the burros out here; the undergrowth is too much for them. Tally can tether them back there in the bushes. While you go to the falls, I’ll do a little hunting in these woods for supper.”

“All right, Ranger, that’s a good plan; we’ll all meet you here in half-hour, eh?” agreed Mr. Gilroy, nodding at the Indian to do as Sanderson had advised.

With a friendly assent the Ranger rode away, and the others in the party watched his graceful form disappear behind the trees; then they turned to ride to the falls. Suddenly Julie turned to Hester and said: “Say! what did we do with the camera?”

“Captain remembered it, but you didn’t,” laughed she, nodding her head accusingly at the scout leader.

“My! I felt my heart sink in my shoes then,” sighed Julie, with a melodramatic roll of her eyes.

“You’re lucky to have such soft elk-skin foot-gear to catch your heart when it falls,” remarked Mrs. Vernon, teasingly.

The sound of the mountain stream which had called the girls to seek the falls mellowed to a distinct splashing as they drew nearer the ledge where the Guide had preceded them. When they reached the place where Tally stood, his horse’s bridle over one arm, the tourists gazed with astonishment at the scene of wild beauty.

The water, a small insignificant bit of water had it been running on the plains, was transformed into a veritable fairy’s veil of white spray, because of the height from which it fell. The group stood upon a crag which projected over a ravine and gazed up at the misty cascade which began its descent about fifty feet higher than the ledge where they were. It fell sheer down to a rocky basin twenty feet below the ledge, and thence it fell again to another depth of about fifty feet before it resumed its rushing career on down to the base of the mountain.

“Hesty, focus the kodak carefully in order to get the entire falls in the picture,” advised Julie.

“Now, Jo, how is that possible?” exclaimed Hester. “The lens would have to be automatic and stretch way up, then down, to cover that two hundred foot fall.”

“I never heard of such an adjustment to a camera, Hessie. Where do they have them on sale?” remarked Mr. Gilroy.

Hester laughed. “I don’t know, Gilly, because no one ever patented that idea, that I know of. I was merely telling Julie that the stunt of stretching the lens was impossible.”

“You ought to know what I meant, Hester,” added Julie. “I meant for you to get the scenery across the ravine, to bring out the effect of the falling water against that green background.”

While every one had a different suggestion to make to Hester, how she ought to take the picture, the scout turned a deaf ear, but kept her eyes on the work in hand. Hence the snapshot proved to be all right. After taking a few more pictures, the scouts were about to return to the trail where the burros had been left, when Julie begged: “Oh, wait! Let Hester take one more snap, Verny.”

The others stopped and turned, and Julie caught hold of Hester’s arm. “Come over here, Hessie, and wait till I say ‘ready!’ I’m going to be in this picture, all right, because I want to develop it and mail it home.”

As she was speaking Julie led Hester to a spot and showed her just what she was to do after she, Julie, was posed and ready.

“That beautiful hanging tree all draped with creepers, see it—right on the verge of the cliff? I’ll lean against it gracefully, as if I was leaning over to look down into the chasm, and then you push the button. You’ll get the falls as a background, and everything.”

Hester understood perfectly, so Julie rushed over to the crooked, leaning pine, half-dead, but draped as the scout had said, with long swinging tendrils of vines.

“Isn’t this going to be a thriller of a picture, Verny?” called Julie, waving a hand at the wide canyon and the shimmering falls.

“For goodness’ sake, Julie! don’t go so close to the edge,” warned Joan. But she was too late.

In turning to address the Captain, Julie had inadvertently stepped back one pace too far. With the wave of her hand at the ravine she lost her balance. In a panic she flung out both hands to clutch at the nearest hold. They grasped the swaying vines which immediately tore away from their frail hold, and in a second’s time Julie was gone.

Every one stood momentarily transfixed with horror. The next second, however, the girls were screaming, Betty was wringing her hands, and the Captain flung herself at her husband, beseeching him to save Julie!

Hester still held the camera exactly as she had while waiting for the signal to snap the picture. She seemed utterly bereft of her senses, because she was turning the key that rolls the film, and she kept on turning it in her brain-shock until the entire roll of twelve exposures was used up. Tally was the only one who seemed to have any presence of mind.

“Boss, run get rope from packs! Me climb down canyon an’ help Mees Jule.”

“Tally, I must go with you to help,” called Mr. Gilroy, in opposition to the guide’s command; “let Mr. Vernon get the rope!”

The two men ran to the edge of the cliff where the crooked tree still leaned far out over the chasm, but Tally sought and found a place where he could get a clear unobstructed view of the side of the canyon directly under the jutting tree. And there he saw a sight that caused him to scream hysterically, “Julesafed! Julesafed!”

This announcement acted like an electric current on the others. With one impulse the scouts made a dash for the place where Tally stood, but Mr. Gilroy barred the way.

“Not much! You-all get back and leave us men do this,” shouted he, sternly.

Obedient as children caught in mischief, they all fell back without a thought of doing otherwise. Their minds were intent on every least thing in this emergency, but the suspense was racking to the nerves.

“Get rope, Mees’s Vern’, tie ’roun’ beeg tree. I go down furder an’ get Mees Jule. She on ledge right unner dat tree. She not move, so she mus’ faint,” explained Tally, as he rushed past Mr. Gilroy and ran downward from the place where the others remained.

The moment Tally had vanished in the heavy undergrowth and trees, Mr. Gilroy leaped over to the point where the guide had had his view. Then he called and explained to the anxious group of scouts.

“There’s a projecting ledge under the edge of the top of the cliff, but it is not visible from where we were standing. It is only a few feet beneath the top, and Julie can’t be hurt by the fall. She has fainted through fright, I’m sure.”

His words brought back the color to blanched faces, and hope to stricken hearts. Now he called to them again.

“There goes Tally! He has found a way of reaching the ledge, so it can’t be a hazard to bring her up. I’ll go the way he went and help.” As he spoke he started for the slope down which the Indian had disappeared, but Mrs. Vernon ran over to him with a small vial in her hand.

“Here, Gilly—ammonia! I had it in the small knapsack on my belt,” cried she, breathlessly, dragging at him.

He took it and hurried away. In a very short time Mr. Vernon returned to his friends with a blank look upon his face, but the dire news he had intended to impart to them was driven dean from his mind when he heard of the possible recovery of Julie.

“Oh, Uncle Verny, Julie’s all right now!” Joan assured him.

“Yes, yes, Verny! Gilly says she only fainted. He’s gone to help Tally carry her back here,” explained Hester, eagerly. Betty was still weeping nervously.

At such information Mr. Vernon could not control himself, but he ran over to the outlook point whence the Indian had spied the fallen scout upon the ledge. He saw the Guide about to pick up the unconscious girl. In another moment Tally had her upon his back as a trained first aid would; then, carefully, he picked his way along the narrow shelf of mossy rock till he reached the place where it ran into the slope. Here Mr. Gilroy was waiting with the aromatic ammonia. The next thing Mr. Vernon saw was Julie kicking violently and struggling with the strong pungent fumes of the ammonia.

“She’s all right! Julie’s come to again!” shouted Mr. Vernon to the anxious group waiting to hear from him. “Get some water, some one, and have a glass of water ready to dash in her face, in case she feels faint again!” But he remained where he was till the last signs of the three on the slope of the chasm had vanished.

At his order, the scouts ran here and there in vain, then said: “Where can we find any water, Verny, other than over the falls?”

“Let Unk Verny go get the water if he thinks it is so easy a matter,” replied Mrs. Vernon, testily, dropping upon the grass and using her sleeve to dry the beads of anxiety from her brow.

Joan laughed hysterically as she added: “We’ll tell him to use the old oaken bucket that hangs in the well! It’s so convenient to our hand just here.” Her laugh broke the tension and every scout present laughed uproariously, then felt better.

By this time the two rescuers came in sight, helping Julie to use her shaky limbs. Then Mr. Gilroy called out to his friends:

“Jule’s all right again. She argued to be allowed to walk, so that shows she is O. K.!”

“Of course, I’m all right! I did that very stunt just to get a good snapshot of myself going over the edge, and I suppose Hester got so frightened that she forgot to snap the picture,” said Julie, as she allowed her helpers to seat her upon the moss.

“Oh, Julie, dear! Did you really! How you frightened me!” wailed Betty, with the suggestion of a complaint in her tones.

Every one laughed at gullible little Betty, and Julie said, “Yes, of course I did! If only that picture turns out well!”

Hester had forgotten all about the camera, but being reminded of it she ran over to pick it up. As she did so she looked at the register to see how many exposures had been used, and as she did this she gasped.

“Jule! I really believe I did take that stunt! Any way, I must have turned the key, again and again, until not one single film remains to be exposed. I’ve reached the end of the reel!”

The laugh that greeted this information acted like a tonic on Julie’s shaken nerves, and in a little while she felt able to get up and walk to her horse.

“Think you are strong enough to resume the ride up-trail, dearie?” asked Mrs. Vernon, solicitously.

“Oh, sure! Strong as a mountain lion,” laughed Julie, as she tried to jump into the saddle. Then she found she had better wait and receive assistance. But once she was securely seated upon her horse, she felt her old self again, and needed no further sympathy for her dramatic scene at the cliff.

They rode out from the tangled wilderness to the trail, but no Ranger had arrived. The burros were brought from the nook where they had been hidden, and everything was in order for a new start, yet no young man appeared on the scene.

“Great Scott! We can’t sit here all day waiting for a youngster who may not show up before midnight,” grumbled Mr. Gilroy.

“Suppose we leave a note somewhere where the Ranger will be sure to see it, and then we can ride on,” suggested Julie.

“Yes, Gilly. You know how long it takes these burros to cover the ground,” added Joan.

“Oh, very well! But I thought you young ladies would prefer to wait for such a handsome young chap who is so entertaining,” agreed Mr. Gilroy.

“Gilly, have you ever heard one of us complaining about your age,” asked Betty in such an earnest manner that every one had to double over in laughter. But Betty had meant what she said and she could not understand why they should laugh at her.

In a few more minutes the cavalcade started on the trail, and the note telling the Ranger where to find them had been left upon a stick which was stuck in a prominent place on the road.