Night fell on San Leon; and the searching party which had gone out in the morning, sure of prompt success, returned tired and dispirited. But their places were immediately taken by fresh recruits, Mr. Ford announcing that the matter would not be dropped, night or day, until all hope had to be given up.
Except that Jim’s clothes had been left in his room it might have seemed that the lad had run away, feeling himself out of place at San Leon. But the folded garments placed on the chair beside his empty bed told a different tale.
“No, he has wandered off unknowing what he did. Well, when he comes back he shall find his place ready for him and the warmest of welcomes waiting. While we have tried—and will still—to visit every cabin and ranch within reasonable reach, there are many such little shacks dropped here and there among the mountains; and we have probably overlooked the one in which he is sheltered. Open hospitality is a feature of the west. Anybody who comes across the boy will be good to him. Now, let’s have a little music and then to bed. A whole day in the saddle tires me, though I’m bound to get used to it yet, and so shall all of you. Come, Erminie, give me a song; and Dorothy dear, get out your violin.”
Thus said Mr. Ford, when their evening dinner had been enjoyed and they had all gone out to sit upon the wide veranda, the moonlight flooding the beautiful grounds, and the soft spring air playing about them.
Dorothy felt that she could not play a note, and even Alfaretta was quietly crying in the retired corner she had sought, in the shadow of a pillar. But Mrs. Ford at once obeyed her husband’s wish, and as her wonderful voice floated over them it banished every thought save the delight of listening.
The “boys” came over from their “Barracks” and sprawled on the grass, entranced. Hitherto, their life on the ranch had been one of toil, lightened by sports almost as rough, with the evening diversion of swopping stories over their pipes. They hadn’t been greatly pleased at the prospect of a lot of strangers living so near them, but already all that was changed; and though they didn’t know, till Lemuel informed them, and this singer was one of a few famous artistes, they were moved and touched by the marvellous beauty of her voice.
“You know, boys, it’d be worth ten dollars a ticket—gallery seats, at that—just to get into an opery house an’ hark to yonder lady. An’ now you’re just gettin’ it for nothin’, free, clear gratis, take it or leave it, ary one. Fact. The ‘Boss’s’ lady is an A 1 singer if she is a—I mean, a poor show at a rifle.”
The songs went on till the Gray Lady dared sing no more. Like all trained singers she was careful of her throat and unused, as yet, to the air of this region at night. But when she laughingly declared:
“No more this time; not if I’m to sing again,” there was a murmur of dissatisfaction from the group of men about the fountain; and old Captain Lem begged, in their name: