Virginia's Ranch Neighbors

by Grace May North

Virginia had dismounted and the other two girls did likewise. “We did not really start out with that intention, we’ll have to confess,” she said, with her friendliest smile, “because you see we did not know of your existence.” Then, fearing that this was not quite truthful, she concluded. “That is, we did, and we didn’t.”

Noting the puzzled expression in the fine face of the girl she was addressing, Virginia told the whole story of the tale that the station master’s boy had told of the large caravan of thieving gypsies, and of their subsequent loss of cattle, their search for the caravan, the finding of the wagon trail and then the newspaper with its message.

“Oh, Brother Gordon must have written that. We were stuck for a day and a night but some prospectors, I think they were called, came along and dug us out. We’re on our way back to Douglas now, but we’ve stopped here to get water and fill our canteens. Oh good, here comes brother. He’s been up the canon where the prospectors told us we would find a rancher who had water in a cistern.”

A tall lad, too pale to be a real Westerner, appeared on a loping run from the canon beyond. “No luck, sister,” he had started to say when he saw the three strangers and their horses.

“We have guests,” the girl called happily. Then to the others: “You can’t guess how glad I am to see someone of my own age and I’m just wild to know who you are and where you came from. Can’t you stay and have supper with us? We have it very early and it’s now after three.”

The lad came up and snatching off his hat, he stood waiting for his sister’s invitation to be acknowledged, but not accepted, as Virg told them that their home was some distance and that her brother would be troubled if he returned from Silver Creek and found her not there. “But now since we have met so informally, let’s introduce ourselves,” she concluded. This was done and the four visitors found that instead of gypsies, the two were the son and daughter of a copper magnate whose name was very familiar to Virginia, since he it was who owned many of the mines and smelting founderies in Douglas and Bisbee.

“We are truly tenderfoots,” the girl, whose name was Annette Traylor, told them, “for our home is in New York City and we have never before been on the desert where our dad came from college to prospect so many years ago. He’s always telling us tales of his adventures and so this year, when brother broke down in his freshman year at Yale, dad said the best thing for us to do would be to visit his old haunts on the desert. He was coming West to inspect some mines and as he was to be busy for about two weeks, he put us in the care of an old man whom he had known years ago and told him to show us the sights.”

“Then you’re not alone?” Virginia looked about for a guide but saw no one.

Annette smiled. “Yes, we are, quite alone and unprotected. You see it happened in this wise. We hadn’t been gone more than a day from Douglas when Old Piute, as Dad called the guide who was part Indian and the rest French, got sick, and so we sent him back. He didn’t want to go, but we could easily see that he was too ill to travel, so we gave him the money Dad had promised him if he returned us safely to Douglas in two weeks. Then we gave him one of the burros in our train and he sadly rode away. We could see him shaking his old grizzled head until he was out of sight. Brother declared that a youth who was wise enough to go to Yale ought to be wise enough to drive a team of wiry horses over the desert. You see where we made the mistake was in not minding Old Piute. He told us to keep to the roads where autos travel, but brother thought there would be no adventures along a beaten way and so he turned out into the open desert and the third day we stuck.”

The lad laughed in a hearty boyish manner. “Well, I’m glad we did since we met one of the most interesting characters I ever knew outside of the ‘Dick Dead-eye’ books and, too, we acquired a bear.”