He little knew what Bud’s brain had plotted along that line. No less a mate than the belle of the valley would suit him. Let her once fall into his power he would bring the proud minx to terms. To that end, he had a scheme of his own that he never divulged to any of his followers. It was to be the culmination of all his desires and his deviltry. How his plot worked out we shall learn later.
Chapter VII
MOUNTAINEER MEMORIES
IT was July twenty-fourth, the day on which, some forty years before, the Mormon Pioneers had entered the valley of the Great Salt Lake. A colony of these people, who had settled a few miles to the south of the Bar B ranch, had decided to celebrate the occasion. The program looked promising of a good time. It was to begin with a pageant depicting scenes of the early days and close with a banquet in the aspen grove, followed by a “grand ball.” Everybody in the valley, regardless of religious affiliations, was urged to participate in the celebration.
Cap Hanks, yielding to the solicitations of his men, therefore declared the day a holiday for all hands and the cook. Fred, however, made a plan of his own for the day. He awoke early that morning before the stars had faded, and while the rest were asleep he slipped out of bed, caught and saddled his mare and rode away toward the eastern hills.
The air was delightfully crisp as the breezes began to pour out of the canyon down from the snowy peaks. It was a joy to be alive if only to drink deeply of the mountain ozone, sweet with the mingled fragrance of pines and flowers and grasses; the old stream seemed snappier and fresher than ever as Brownie splashed into its clear cold waters across the old ford. Nature was yet asleep. Only the whispering of the trees and the singing of the stream could be heard. But as they climbed the trail up the foothills, live things began to waken. First a sleepy “cheep-cheep” of some little songbird out of the streamside willows, then a far away yelping of the coyotes, and suddenly from under Brownie’s pattering feet an old sage hen sprang into the air with frightened clucking. A moment later the whole flock arose, shocking the stillness with their noises. By the time he had reached the hill crest before the old trapper’s home, the first streaks of day had appeared above the mountain, and the morning star, a spot of flaming silver against the sky, was melting in the reddening glow of the dawn.
Old Tobe gave a sharp, challenging bark as Brownie’s feet rattled the gravel down the trail.
“Who’s there?” called Uncle Dave from within the cabin as the boy rode up.
“Fred Benton,” came the response; “I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”
“No, come in; I was just crawlin’ out.”
Fred tied his mare to a sapling and entered the cabin.