AT THE RANCH
Jean was laid up with a sprained ankle which she twisted in trying to follow where Jack and Clarence led to the upper branches of a tree in the garden. It was hard enough to keep still, but it was harder yet to give up a visit to the Sanders ranch, for just at this time Mr. Sanders appeared and insisted upon bearing at least one of the girls away with him. The invitation was originally intended for the twins, but since Jean could not go and it would never do to let Jack go unattended by one of the family, Mrs. Corner decided that Mary Lee should accompany her sister. At first Mary Lee was not enthusiastic, but later on she came to her mother and reported that she would as lief go as not.
"I hate to leave the señorita," she said, "but maybe I can do her more good by going than by staying;" which mysterious speech her mother did not ask to have explained.
"I think," she said, "you can do better for everybody by going, for I should not want Jack to be among strangers with no one to watch her, and you are rather more sedate than Nan, or rather you are more matter-of-fact, and will be more liable to keep her steady. Nan can get her out of scrapes, but what I want you to do is to keep her from getting into them."
And so Mary Lee and Jack started off, leaving Jean with a forlorn but resigned countenance watching them. She had been promised all sorts of treats at home to make up for her disappointment, so she was not entirely unhappy. Mrs. Roberts had promised to send a carriage for her to come and spend the day, Carter had said he would take her upon a special ride in his automobile when they would stop for soda water, Nan had already begun some lovely paper dolls with wonderful costumes, and Li Hung was going to make some little cakes of which she was specially fond. Yet it was hard to see her twin drive off for a week's stay and to feel that she was out of it in the matter of seeing Bessie Sanders. Jean and Jack had talked so much about this visit and now Jack was going without her twin. Tears actually began to roll down from her eyes as she watched Mr. Sanders' carriage out of sight.
But just then Nan came over to comfort her, seeing the forlorn little figure with foot propped upon a pillow. "Poor itty sing," she said, "they've gone and left us both, haven't they? Never mind, we'll do something pleasant right away. Here is a magic flower," she leaned over and gathered a rose from the vine clambering up the veranda; "make three wishes out loud and I will summon the genii. Shut your eyes and make the wishes."
"Oh, Nan," exclaimed Jean, half inclined to believe in the magic flower. "Do you mean truly?"
"Of course I do. Hurry up and make your three wishes. Take the flower in your hand. Abracadabra! Go ahead. Close your eyes first."
Jean's eyelids fell and she began: "I wish for a little pony——"
"One."
"And a—a—box of candy."
"Two."
"And—and—oh, dear, what do I want most? I wish I had a whole dollar to do as I choose with, to spend just as I please, without any one's saying, 'Oh, what did you get that for?'"
"Keep your eyes shut till you are told to open them," was the next command, and Jean obeyed.
After what seemed long waiting she heard Nan say: "Open thine eyes, fair maid, and behold what the genii have brought."
Jean's eyes popped open. Upon a chair before her was the picture of a pony cut from a magazine.
"Now, Nan," began Jean, half disappointed.
"You didn't say a live pony," Nan explained; "you should have said that, you know. Shut your eyes again and wait for your second wish."
Jean's eyes fell and at the second bidding she opened them to see a bona fide box of candy which Nan had mysteriously produced. The third wish was as realistic, for the actual dollar was hers, so that by the time Jack was well on her way, Jean was entirely comforted.
It was a pleasant trip, and most did they enjoy the last three miles which took them from the railway station. They drove into the gate with a dash. A man came forward to take the horses as Mr. Sanders jumped out of the carriage.
"Why, it's Jo Poker," exclaimed Mary Lee. "How did you get here?" she asked.
The man frowned, but immediately upon seeing who it was he smiled. "Why, it's the little gal that wanted to see the pine squirrel," he said. "How did you get here? I might ask."
"I came on a visit," Mary Lee told him.
"And I came to turn an honest penny," he said.
As he drove away Mary Lee turned to Mr. Sanders. "How did you get hold of him? I saw him 'way down toward San Bernardino."
"Oh, he travels around, works when he feels like it, loafs when he pleases. He's a good worker when he takes hold of a job, and I'm always glad to get him. It isn't every one he'll work for."
"Have you known him long?" Mary Lee kept up her questions.
"Oh, yes, I've known him for years. Saw him first down in Mexico, and I've run across him on and off ever since. Sometimes not for two or three years and then suddenly he'd turn up in some entirely different place. He's a born rover."
"Do you suppose all those stories they tell about him are true?"
"Well, it's hard telling. He's no saint, but I guess he's not as black as he's painted. He's always acted white with me. There's mother waiting for you. I'll set your grip right inside and then I'll jog down to the barn."
Jack had already been welcomed heartily by Bessie and they were now plotting all sorts of amusements. "We were so sorry Jean couldn't come," Mary Lee explained to Mrs. Sanders, "but she has sprained her ankle, and mother didn't want to trust Jack alone, so I came to look after her."
"I don't reckon she'll need much looking after," said Mrs. Sanders, "but I'm mortal glad to see you, for you'll be more company for me. We'll have a real good time hobnobbing together. I've got a Mexican woman in the kitchen, but she doesn't cook my way, so I'm going to see about supper. Want to go 'long?"
Mary Lee willingly followed into the large neat kitchen where she watched Mrs. Sanders stir up biscuits for supper and prepare chickens for frying.
"That's just the way we do them at home," said Mary Lee. "Are you from Virginia, Mrs. Sanders?"
"No, but I'm next door to it; I'm from Maryland. I always maintain there's no better cooks in the universe than Marylanders, and that nobody knows so well how to eat good. I've been away from there right smart of a while, but I never saw any place where the eatings suited me so well. Mr. Sanders says that's what first made him take notice to me. He'd eat such an awful good supper at our house, and he kept thinking he'd certainly like it to last, then when he found out I'd made the biscuits and fried the chicken he just set up to me right off. My, I never expected to come to California then or I mightn't have been so particular about my cooking. It's a good bit of a way from home out here."
"Was it at your home in Maryland that you first met him?" asked Mary Lee, interested in Mr. Sanders' courtship.
"Yes, at my father's house. He'd come east for the first time since he left home, and he was down our way. My brother invited him to the house; they'd been to school together when they were boys, and he'd been hunting up his old friends, you see. Well, when he went back he took me along to Texas, and from there we come to California. He's a good bit older than me, but I reckon we get along as well as most. I get to thinking about home once in a while, but I've never regretted marrying."
"You like it out here, don't you?"
"Yes, I like it. At first I pined for the old Eastern Sho', and I yet think it is the best spot on earth, but I'm satisfied. He's a good husband and father and we're better off every year."
Mary Lee watched the deft tossing together of the biscuits, and her own thoughts wandered back to her Virginia home, to Aunt Sarah, with Mitty in the kitchen, and Unc' Landy plodding about doing his chores.
The biscuits done, Mrs. Sanders left the baking of them to the Mexican woman, and returned to the house. "I'll go slick up a bit before supper," she said. "You go make yourself at home anywhere you feel inclined."
It occurred to Mary Lee that it was time to discover Jack's whereabouts and she ran out of doors to find her happily playing with Bessie under the trees and in no need of sisterly attention. Therefore she went indoors for her work-bag and established herself on the veranda where she could watch the children and at the same time could occupy herself with her drawn work. She sat, a neat, sedate little figure at which Jo Poker cast more than one glance as he passed by.
On his way back he paused. "You got back all right that day?" he said inquiringly.
"What day? Oh, yes, thank you. I have not forgotten what a nice time we had there in the woods." Then following out the train of thought which had been taking up her mind she said: "Did you ever know any people by the name of Mendez or Garcia?"
He did not answer for a moment but fixed his eyes upon her searchingly, then, evidently with an effort, "Yes, I did. They're not unusual names. Where did those you speak of hail from?"
"I don't know exactly; somewhere in Mexico. I knew you had a Mexican wife, and I thought maybe you could tell me something I want to find out."
"Well, I reckon I can't," said the man shortly. "It's been years since I saw any of them; before you were born." And without stopping to continue the conversation he walked away.
"Well," said Mary Lee, "he's not very polite, but maybe he thought I was inquisitive. I'll ask Mr. Sanders what he knows." This she did that same evening. "You knew our señorita when she was a little girl, didn't you?" she began.
"You mean Dolores Mendez, do you? The one who was here with you all?"
"Yes, but we call her Miss Garcia."
"To be sure; her aunt did adopt her, I remember. She was a quiet little kitten, pretty in a way, but she kept to herself. I used to see her around. Her mother was dead then, but her grandfather set great store by her."
"Did you know her father?" asked Mary Lee.
"No, I didn't, and funny, they never used to speak of him. I believe his daughter's marriage was a great disappointment to the old man, who hadn't much use for Americans, at least that is what I heard. I believe there was a cousin he wanted her to marry, but I don't know. They said her husband was a very decent sort of fellow, but I never met him, not to know him."
Then said Mary Lee to herself, "if it was Jo Poker, Mr. Sanders doesn't know it." She thought over this for awhile and then she remarked: "Isn't Jo Poker a queer name?"
"He is a queer Dick," returned Mr. Sanders. "All the years I have known him I don't know much more about him than I did at first. You never know when or where he is going to turn up. When he leaves me like as not he'll go as far as 'Frisco, or maybe Seattle, there's no telling. I may not see him again for a year. He'll take his run then go back to his cabin and stay there as if he wanted to get shet of the whole world, that is, the human part of it. I think he's above the common run, he talks so sensible. If he takes a shine to any one he's decent enough, but if he don't, then look out. I was able to do him a good turn once and he ain't forgot it, that's why he's ready to work on my ranch when he comes this way."
"Do you suppose his name is really Jo Poker?"
"No, it isn't, but he'll not tell what it is, and one name is as good as another for his purpose. He gets Jo everywhere, anyway."
"When he dies will they just put Jo Poker on his tombstone, I wonder," said Mary Lee reflectively.
Mr. Sanders smiled. "I can't prophesy as to that. No doubt when that time comes somebody will come forward and give his pedigree, or maybe he'll leave papers."
The mysterious Jo Poker continued to interest Mary Lee and she always smiled on him when he appeared. One day he stopped suddenly at the veranda. "Want to go to the woods and see one of those pine squirrels?" he said.
"Oh, I'd love to," returned Mary Lee, jumping up. "May I bring my little sister and Bess?"
"Why, yes, I reckon. That's a wide awake little gal, your sister. She can ask more questions to the square inch than anybody I know. Yes, fetch her along; I'll be out there by the first windmill."
Mary Lee ran to find Jack and presently the three children, joined by Jo, were on their way to the nearest stretch of woods. Here the saucy little Douglas squirrel had his home. As soon as his visitors appeared he rushed down the tree where he was lodged, uttered his peculiar cry and made a sudden dash at them as if he would eat them up.
Jack laughed with glee. "Do it again, do it again," she called to him. But seeing that these beings kept their ground Mars' Squirrel began a series of antics, ran up and down the trunk of the tree, cutting all sorts of queer figures, and coming so near that they could look into his large bright eyes. It was evident that he was very curious about his callers.
Presently Jo Poker took a flute from his pocket, fitted it together and began to play softly. Instantly the squirrel was all attention. He flattened himself out upon the limb of the tree, fixed his eyes on the player and listened with evident pleasure. After awhile he crept slowly along and leaped on Jo's shoulder, nosing the flute while he played.
The children clapped their hands over their mouths lest some sound should disturb him. Presently Jo changed the tune to a slow lugubrious measure, and at once the squirrel leaped back into the tree, sat upon his haunches and scolded vigorously. This was not the kind of music he preferred. Jo took the flute from his lips, wiped it off and looked up at the little creature. "Don't like that, hey? Well, how's this?" and he played a little Scotch air which brought bunny down again to his shoulder, and also enticed from the tree-tops several birds which fluttered nearer and nearer, but they, too, flew off when the mournful tune was repeated.
A Little Scotch Air Brought Bunny to His Shoulder.
After a time Jo declared the concert was over, and put his flute back into his pocket. "It's queer," he said, "how wild things have a taste in music. I've been out here every day for a week, and they've got to know me, but they act just the same every time I play that old psalm tune. Ain't it funny? I thought you'd like to see how they behave as long as you like the woods' creeturs."
"I love them," said Mary Lee, fervently. "I wish I knew as much about them as you do."
"I could tell you a good bit," said Jo, "and I could show you some queer corners of the earth where things go on you wouldn't suspect. Any time you want to go 'long, I'll be glad of your company. I get off about this time every evening." So almost every day after this the two could be seen trudging off together, talking earnestly, and as the secrets of the woods were revealed to her, Mary Lee became very confidential with Jo Poker.
"If I had a gal," he told her one day, "I'd like her to be just like you. I'd like her to want to go traipsing through the bogs and over rough ground, to be fond of the beasts and birds, to like the smell of the earth and the dry leaves, and not to mind camping out in the open."
"Maybe your daughter would be like that if you should find her," said Mary Lee.
He shook his head. "I've give her up, you know."
"But why should you? I am sure you could take care of her?"
"In a way, but she mightn't like my way. She might want store clothes and fancy hats. She might mope if she hadn't company, and she mightn't want to turn her hand to making a home. I've thought it all out, and I reckon it's better to let well enough alone."
"Maybe you are right about it," said Mary Lee slowly, and thinking of the señorita. She could not imagine Miss Dolores tramping the silent woods, cooking a meal over a camp-fire or sleeping in a mountain hut. No, she agreed with Jo, it was better to let well enough alone. Yet during one of their tramps and in a burst of confidence she told him the señorita's story.
He listened silently, poking the rich leaf mould beneath him as he sat on a fallen log.
"What did you say her name was?" he asked.
Mary Lee gave it in full.
He repeated it slowly. "The Mendez was her mother's name, and Garcia her aunt's. Yes, that was it."
"You said once——" Mary Lee hesitated. She did not want to lose what she seemed already to have gained. "You said once, you knew some people of that name."
"So I did. I used to once," was all he vouchsafed and was silent a long time. "See here," he said suddenly, "how long are you going to be in these parts?"
"In California, do you mean? Till summer. We are going to Santa Barbara pretty soon and then to San Francisco. From there we go home by the Canadian Pacific."
"That so? Hm, hm. Well, I reckon it might be a good thing if that gal found her father's folks. Maybe she will. There's no telling. Queerer things than that have happened. You going to-morrow, are you?"
"Yes, we must. Mother would not like us to overstay our time. I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed our trips to the woods. You have told me so much and I do thank you for being so kind to me. I wish you could find your daughter and that she would be the kind of girl you like."
"'Tain't likely. Well, Miss Mary, I've enjoyed your company and maybe we'll meet again some time. I'm going to say good-bye now, for I'm off myself to-morrow early."
The next day Mr. Sanders announced that Jo had gone. "Lit out at daylight," he said. "Just like him. I paid him off last night, and he said he'd have to be moving. There's no telling when he'll turn up again."
"I like him," said Mary Lee, "and I don't believe one word about his being a bad man."
"He's a good worker," said Mr. Sanders, as he always asserted, "but I reckon he ain't no church member."
Jack had carried herself well through her visit and had no worse mishaps than a fall or two, a tumble into an irrigating ditch, and an attack of indigestion from eating too many raisins and too much honey, therefore Mary Lee considered that the visit had been unusually successful, and that in a week one could not expect much less to happen to Jack.
Bessie looked mournful as she waved good-bye and the tears stood in her eyes. Never before in her life had she been through so many exciting adventures as Jack had devised, and never had she had such an entertaining and lively companion.
"Never mind," said Mrs. Sanders as the carriage disappeared from sight, "some of these days you will be going to school and will have little girls with you all day long."
"There won't any of them be like Jack," returned Bessie, and it is safe to say that she spoke truthfully. But with no Jack to turn to she possessed herself of her favorite cat, and found solace in a quiet corner where she could suck her finger and mourn unobserved.