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GRACE HARLOWE'S OVERLAND RIDERS ON THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT
BY
JESSIE GRAHAM FLOWER, A. M.
ILLUSTRATED
CHAPTER I--WHEN THE COWBOYS LAUGHED
Picking out the ponies for the desert journey. The Overland girls
meet Hi Lang. Grace selects an "outlaw" pony. "Don't reckon you'll
be able to stick on him," warns the guide. Grace Harlowe flings
herself into the saddle, braced for the shock.
CHAPTER II--AN "OUTLAW" MEETS HIS MATCH
Grace fights a stubborn battle with the vicious bronco. "Look
out!" yells the guide. "Wall, ef thet don't beat the Dutch!"
exclaims a cowboy. A fainting conqueror. Cowboys voice their
admiration of the Overland girl, and Bud offers his services in
the event of trouble.
CHAPTER III--A THRILLING MOMENT
Enthusiastic plainsmen give Grace a Mexican lasso. The start for
the desert. A rousing good-bye that ends in disaster. Elfreda and
Grace accomplish a difficult feat. "Hang on! We'll stop him!" The
runaway bronco is thrown. "They're caught!"
CHAPTER IV--PING WING MAKES A DISCOVERY
Elfreda confesses to being "all mussed up," and gives first aid to
an injured cowboy. The lure of the desert. Welcomed at their first
camp by Ping Wing. The Chinaman as a songbird. The Overland Eiders
are aroused by cries and shots.
CHAPTER V--STALKING A MOUNTAIN MYSTERY
Ping uses a frying pan and a can of tomatoes as his weapons.
Scooting for a mysterious foe. "Put up your hands! I have you
covered!" Grace Harlowe exchanges shots with her adversary, then
suddenly sinks out of sight.
CHAPTER VI--INTO THE GREAT SILENCE
Hi stalks an unseen enemy and wings him. The hole in the mountain.
"The hound! He hit her! I'll kill him for that!" Grace,
unconscious, is carried into camp. "This is not a gunshot wound!"
Bullets are fired into the camp of the Overlanders.
CHAPTER VII--THE FIRST DESERT CAMP
Hi Lang shows his charges how to make a campfire on the desert. A
water hole is found. "Some one is trying to poison us!" groans
Hippy. The guide warns the campers against scorpions. Emma Dean
wishes she had gone to the seashore.
CHAPTER VIII--CALLERS DROP IN
Amid scenes of desolation. "A party of horsemen coming this way!"
The Overland party prepares for trouble. Hippy is doused by a wild
desert rider. "Get off my desert!" orders Lieutenant Wingate. The
leader is kicked into a water hole. The battle at the water hole.
CHAPTER IX--PIRATES GET A HOT RECEPTION
Bullets fly fast in the desert camp. Grace protests against Hi
Lang's order to shoot the attackers' ponies. Miss Briggs dresses
the wounds of the victims. The guide reads danger signals in the
sky.
CHAPTER X--WHEN THE BLOW FELL
"It's here!" mutters Hi Lang. Enveloped in a wild desert
sandstorm. "Down! Everybody down!" Overland girls nearly buried
under drifting sands, and camp equipment is wrecked and blown
away. "The water hole is lost!" announces the guide.
CHAPTER XI--FACING A NEW PERIL
Ponies stray away in the storm. On the trail of the missing ones.
The Overland girl makes a capture. Headed for Death Valley. Grace
Harlowe is lost, but doesn't know it. Hi Lang goes to the rescue
and follows her trail.
CHAPTER XII--A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT
"We must find water!" declares Hi Lang impressively. The search
for a desert "tank" begun by the weary Riders. Directed to smell
for water. A thrilling discovery. Hopes dashed to earth. "Get back
to your positions!" orders the guide.
CHAPTER XIII--A STARTLING ALARM
Supper is eaten without water or tea. Hi Lang shows the girls how
to extract food and moisture from a cactus plant. "This is
heavenly!" gasps Emma, and wonders why they did not bring an
artesian well. Shouts and screams suddenly disturb the camp.
CHAPTER XIV--THE MYSTERIOUS HORSEMAN
Hippy Wingate falls into the desert. A happy accident. "Water! I
smell it!" cries Grace. Signal shots are fired. A desert wanderer
rides in begging for water. A solitary horseman views the
Overlanders from afar.
CHAPTER XV--THE GUIDE READS A DESERT TRAIL
A stranger's warning interests Hi Lang. Why the desert wanderer is
always listening. More desert secrets revealed. Emma Dean dreams
of snakes and things. Grace Harlowe is complimented. Hi tells the
Overlanders what the mysterious horseman is.
CHAPTER XVI--THE CROSS ON THE DESEST
Grace learns to throw the lasso. An unpleasant discovery. The
mystery box at the foot of the cross. Emma is eager to see their
find opened. "It rattles like gold," declares Hippy. Lieutenant
Wingate raises the cover of the mystery box.
CHAPTER XVII--ANOTHER MYSTERY TO SOLVE
What the Overland Riders found in the buried tin box. The map that
aroused the curiosity of all. "I'll bury the old thing," declares
Hippy. Hi Lang empties his rifle at the mysterious horseman, and
later makes discoveries.
CHAPTER XVIII--AN OLD INDIAN TRICK
The most trying day of all. Hi Lang utters a warning. A cloud that
aroused suspicion. Overlanders meet with a keen disappointment.
"Folks, the tank is dry! The water hole has been tampered with!"
announces the Overlanders' guide.
CHAPTER XIX--THE WARNING
An all-night ride for Forty-Mile Canyon. The red star is Hi Lang's
beacon. Hippy Wingate mourns at missing a meal. Emma comes a
cropper in a mountain stream. "The last spot made when the world
was built." In camp in the Specter Range. Grace Harlowe's
discovery.
CHAPTER XX--CONCLUSION
Grace Harlowe wades into the mountain stream and suddenly
disappears. A remarkable scene behind the waterfall. Grace makes
an important capture. Mountain and desert mysteries unveiled.
Lindy becomes the daughter of five mothers. Home!
GRACE HARLOWE'S OVERLAND RIDERS ON THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT
CHAPTER I
WHEN THE COWBOYS LAUGHED
"Grace Harlowe, do you realize what an indulgent husband you
have?" demanded Elfreda Briggs severely.
"Why, of course I do," replied Grace, giving her companion a quick
glance of inquiry. "Why this sudden realization of the fact on
your part!"
"I was thinking of the really desperate journey we are about to
undertake--the journey across the desert that lies just beyond the
Cactus Range you can see over yonder," answered Miss Briggs, as
she gazed out through the open window of their hotel at Elk Run,
to the distant landscape to which she had referred. "What I am
curious about is how Tom ever came to consent to your attempting
such an adventure."
"I presume he really would have made serious objection had it not
been for the fact that he had signed up for that forestry contract
in Oregon. Tom knew that I would have a lonely summer at home,
and, I believe, deep down in his heart, felt that were he to deny
me the pleasure of this trip, I might break my neck driving my
car. You see, since I drove an ambulance in France I do not
exactly creep along the roads with my spirited little roadster."
"He did not object to the trip then?"
"Well, he did threaten to balk when I told him that we Overlanders
had planned to ride horseback across the Great American Desert,
starting from Elk Run, Nevada. However, he listened to reason. Tom
is such a dear," reflected Grace.
"Yes, reason in the form of Grace Harlowe Gray," nodded Elfreda
understandingly. "Should I ever have the misfortune to possess a
husband I hope he may be as amenable to reason. Where is Tom, by
the way?"
"He has gone out with Hippy Wingate to look for one Hiram Lang,
known hereabouts as Hi Lang, the man who is to act as our guide
and protector across the desert. He is Mr. Fairweather's cousin,
you will recall, and my one great hope is that he may prove to be
as fine a character as the man who piloted us over the Old Apache
Trail last summer."
"I sincerely hope, for our sake, that he knows his business,"
nodded Elfreda Briggs.
"Where did you leave the girls?" questioned Grace.
"I left Emma Dean, Anne Nesbit and Nora Wingate at the general
store where they were selecting picture cards of wild west scenes
to send to the folks back home. By the way, when does Tom leave
for Oregon?"
"To-night. I wish it were possible for him to go with us, knowing
that it would prove an interesting experience for him, but now
that he is out of the army he feels that he must get to work
without loss of time. Tom now has a large family to look after--
Yvonne and my own little self."
"I should say that, after fighting Bolshevists in Russia for the
better part of a year, the desert would be a rather tame
experience for him," observed Miss Briggs. "Of course he cannot be
blamed for desiring to get to work. I feel the same way about
myself, but since my return from France my law practice has been
about what it was while I was serving my country on the other side
of the Atlantic Ocean--nothing at all--so I might as well be on
the desert as in my office."
"Your practice will come back, Elfreda. Don't worry, but in the
meantime try to have the best kind of a time and set what happens
this fall. I hear Tom's step."
A knock followed the brisk step in the hallway, and Grace's
husband entered. Elfreda rose, but Grace held out a hand as a
signal that her friend was not to leave.
"Well, Tom dear, did you find him?" questioned Grace.
"Oh, yes. This town isn't so large that one can well miss finding
any one. Your man, Hi Lang, is getting the ponies into the corral
and you girls are to go out there and make your selections."
"Did Mr. Lang say why he had not called here to see us?" asked
Grace.
"No, he didn't say much of anything. He is not of the saying kind.
I suppose he expected you to look him up. Besides, he is very busy
getting ready for you, I could see that. If you are ready we will
go over to the corral now."
"Where did you leave Hippy?" asked Miss Briggs.
"Talking horse with the owner of the ponies," Grace's husband
informed her, whereat both girls smiled understandingly, knowing
quite well that Hippy Wingate was posing as an expert on horses,
whereas about all the knowledge he possessed in that direction had
been gained from the ride over the Apache Trail during the
previous summer.
Tom led the two girls to the corral at the extreme edge of the
little western village. Anne, Emma and Nora already had found
their way there and were watching the wranglers, as the men who
catch up the ponies are called, roping broncos and leading them
out for the inspection of Lieutenant Wingate and the guide.
"My, but they are a lively bunch," exclaimed Miss Briggs.
The roped ponies were bucking and squealing and biting and
kicking. A suffocating gray cloud of alkali dust hung over the
corral, and, altogether, the scene was not only exciting, but it
stirred feelings of alarm in some of Grace Harlowe's Overland
Riders.
"Surely, Grace, you girls aren't going to ride those wild
animals!" protested Tom Gray.
"Judging from the performances I have just witnessed, I am
inclined to think we are not," replied Grace whimsically. "Which
is Mr. Lang?"
"The man with his hat off leading the pony from the corral."
Tom beckoned to the man who was to guide the Overlanders across
the desert, and, as soon as he had turned the protesting bronco
over to a cowboy, the guide responded to Tom Gray's summons.
"Lang, this is Mrs. Gray and Miss Briggs," said Tom by way of
introduction.
"Reckon I'm mighty glad to know you all," greeted the guide,
mopping the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.
Hi Lang interested Grace at once. Of medium height, thin-featured,
with a complexion that reminded her of wrinkled parchment, eyes
that, though intelligent and alert, frequently took on a dreamy,
far-away expression, Hiram Lang proved a new type of westerner to
Grace Harlowe.
"Got your telegram that you reckoned on starting to-day," he told
her.
"Yes. Of course we do not wish to hurry you, but we are eager to
get on our way. What about the supplies and equipment! Have you
ordered everything that I suggested?"
The guide nodded.
"The stuff already has gone on ahead in charge of Ping Wing--"
"Who?" laughed Elfreda Briggs.
"Ping Wing, a Chinaman, with four lazy burros. Good man. Can cook,
too. Been on the desert before. Lively as a cricket. Only trouble
with Ping is that he thinks he can sing. Ride and shoot?" he
demanded, abruptly changing the subject.
"I am not much of a rider, but manage to stick to the saddle most
of the time," answered Grace. "I shoot a little. We are all
novices, with the exception of Lieutenant Wingate who is an
excellent shot. The lieutenant was a fighting aviator in the war."
Hi nodded and stroked his chin.
"Reckoned you could ride some. When we get out on the desert I'll
see how you can shoot. When do you think you want to start?"
"I will leave that to you," replied Grace.
"Three o'clock this afternoon. We'll make the range where Ping
will be waiting for us, and have chow there, then go on in the
cool of the evening. Want to look over the broncos?"
"If you please. I should like to try the ponies that we are to
ride."
"Do--do they always kick and buck as we saw them do just now?"
questioned Miss Briggs apprehensively.
The guide shook his head and grinned.
"They don't like to be roped, that's all. No bronco does. They'll
be as all right as a bronc' can be, so long as you don't use the
spur or get the critters stubborn."
"If you say they are perfectly safe for my friends to ride, I am
satisfied, though I should like to try them out. Hippy, have you
ridden any of these animals?" asked Grace, turning to Lieutenant
Wingate.
"He tried to," observed Tom Gray dryly. "Hippy mounted one on one
side and promptly fell off on the other before getting his feet in
the stirrups. It was not the pony's fault, however, but Hippy's
clumsiness that caused the disaster."
"That's right, have all the fun at my expense you wish. I am the
comedian of this outfit anyway," protested Hippy. "Let's see you
ride one of them, Brown Eyes," he urged, speaking to Grace.
"Please have them saddled one by one and I will try them, Mr.
Lang," directed Grace. "Any pony that I can ride, the others
surely can."
The guide nodded and turned away. Grace watched the saddling with
keen interest, especially the saddling of the first pony selected
for her, which squealed and pawed and danced as the cinch-girth
was being tightened.
"Vicious!" objected Elfreda Briggs.
"No," answered Grace. "Just playful. If the others are no worse,
we shall have a good bunch of horses."
The saddle being secured, Grace stepped up and petted the little
animal for a few moments, then mounted. The pony danced under her,
then, at a word, galloped off. The Overland girl rode but a short
distance, and, turning back, trotted up to the group smilingly.
"Spirited but sweet," was her comment as she dismounted. "He will
be all right if he is used right. Try him, Elfreda. I know you
will like him."
Miss Briggs took her test without falling off, and promptly
claimed the little brown animal as her own private mount.
"You made a most excellent selection, Mr. Lang," complimented
Grace, after she had tried the ponies for the rest of the girls
and found them suitable. Each girl also tried out and selected her
own mount from those that Grace had approved, the cowboys and half
the village being interested spectators. Grace was pleased, both
with the ponies and with the riding of her girl friends. Not the
least of those who were pleased was Hi Lang, who, before the
coming of the outfit, had felt considerable doubt as to the
success of the proposed jaunt. Now he knew that the Overland
Riders were not rank greenhorns, as he expressed it to himself.
"Which animal did you think of selecting for me!" asked Grace
smilingly.
"Reckoned you'd do that for yourself," answered the guide.
"Thank you. Please have that black roped and brought out. He is
the one I think will please me," replied Grace promptly.
"What, that black bronc'? He's a lively one, Mrs. Gray. Don't
reckon you'll be able to stick on him at all," warned Hi Lang.
"I have fallen off before, sir. Have him roped and brought out.
I'll try him out."
The guide shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the head
wrangler.
"Why take such unnecessary chances!" begged Tom Gray. "Surely
there are plenty of ponies in the bunch that are safe for you to
ride."
"Tom, surely the black one can be no worse than that wild western
pony that I bought last fall and rode. You know he was supposed to
be the last word in viciousness and bucking ability, but I rode
him successfully."
"Very well, go ahead. You won't be satisfied until you have tried
him, but remember, I warned you," returned Grace's husband with
some heat.
"Now, Tom," begged Grace pleadingly. "Please don't be a cross bear
and spoil my trip. You have been so perfectly lovely about it
right up to this moment, that it would be too bad if you were to
get peevish now. If you say I must not, of course I will not try
to ride the animal, but I do so want him."
Tom Gray shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
"Go to it, little woman. You have my full permission to break your
neck if you insist. I will see that little Yvonne keeps your
memory green."
"Oh, Tom! You are such a dear, but I promise you that you won't
have occasion to keep my memory green so far as that mischievous
little black pony is concerned."
Grace Harlowe's confidence in herself was not without good and
sufficient reason. The western pony that she had ridden the
previous winter had demonstrated nearly all the tricks known to
the stubborn broncos of the great west. At first Grace had had
some bad spills, but eventually she learned to outwit her pony and
ride him no matter how savagely he tried to unhorse her.
Not only had Grace learned to ride, in anticipation of another
summer in the saddle, but, under her husband's instruction, she
had taken up revolver shooting, and by spring was capable of
qualifying as an expert, especially in quick shooting at moving
targets. Thus fitted for the strenuous life in the wilder parts of
her native land, Grace looked forward with calm assurance to the
experiences that she knew lay before her.
"Bring out the black," Hi Lang had directed. "Cinch him so tight
it will make him squeal."
When a wrangler's rope caught him, the wiry little animal fought
viciously for a few moments, then suddenly surrendered and was led
out as docile as a lamb.
"Who said that black is vicious?" demanded Hippy Wingate.
"Want to ride him?" asked the guide good-naturedly.
"No. I have a real pony for myself."
"Watch those ears, Grace," warned Tom Gray.
"I am," replied Grace, and Hi Lang, overhearing, grunted his
satisfaction.
The black pony's ears were tilted back at an angle of forty-five
degrees, and there he held them while the saddle was being set in
place, and the girth cinched, both forefeet spread wide apart and
head well down. He winced a little as the girth was drawn a hole
tighter so that the saddle might not slip, but otherwise made no
move, which, the cowboys said, was an unusual thing for him to do.
The pony's sudden surrender was of itself suspicious to those who
were familiar with the western bronco, and the laid-back ears were
significant to them of trouble to come.
"Is he an outlaw!" asked Grace, meaning an animal naturally so
vicious that he never had been satisfactorily broken.
Hi Lang, to whom the question had been addressed, gave Grace a
quick glance of inquiry.
"Some call him that. At least he's got the ginger in him, and
mebby he is an outlaw. Keep a tight rein on him; don't let him get
his head down if you can help his doing so, and stick to your
leather. Watch him every second, for he's got a box full of
tricks."
"Thank you for the suggestions. I shall not forget."
"I ought not let you ride him. I reckon you'll get enough of the
critter before you have ridden him many minutes, even if you stick
on that long."
"Mr. Lang, I intend to ride that 'critter,' as you call him,
across the desert. Will he bolt while I am mounting?"
"Mebby. All ready now."
"Have you any last requests to make, Grace Harlowe?" asked Elfreda
Briggs frowningly. Elfreda strongly disapproved of Grace's
"foolhardiness," as she called it.
"Yes, keep back and give me plenty of room. See that the other
girls do the same. The black may do a little side-stepping."
Grace, as she had done with the other ponies before mounting,
stepped up to the black and began petting and caressing him, now
and then straightening up the animal's ears, chiding him as she
might a child. This made the cowboys laugh. Cowboys when subduing
broncos do not ordinarily do so with anything resembling baby
talk, and it was their firm conviction that this pretty young
tenderfoot from the east was about to get the surprise of her
life. Instead of feeling sorry for her, however, the souls of the
cowboys were filled with joy at the prospect of some real fun. It
was not often that they were privileged to see an innocent
easterner make an exhibition of himself on a vicious western pony,
and this was the first time they had ever seen a woman from the
east attempt to ride a bucking bronco, which made the occasion all
the more interesting.
"Stand clear, please," warned Grace, giving the pony's neck a
final pat, and at the same time edging her way back from his head,
measuring the distance to the stirrup with her eyes.
"I'll give you the word when to hit the leather," directed Hi in a
low voice. "Watch your step."
Grace acknowledged the warning with a brief nod, watching the
black's head narrowly. The animal still stood with forefeet braced
apart, head slightly lowered, ears, it seemed, flatter than ever.
"If I miss it I'm lost," muttered Grace, referring to the stirrup.
"Ready," warned the voice of the guide.
The girl's left hand holding the bridle rein crept cautiously to
the pommel of the saddle.
"Now!"
Grace's left foot caught the stirrup and, like a flash, the
Overland girl landed hard and firmly seated on the saddle, the
right foot in the stirrup on that side, then, with the aid of
stirrup and cantle, she braced herself to meet the shock that she
knew was right at hand.
CHAPTER II
AN "OUTLAW" MEETS HIS MATCH
The black did not move a muscle for a few seconds, then, with a
sudden turn of the head, he made a grab for his rider's leg.
Grace, never having taken her eyes from the laid-back ears, gave a
quick kick with her left foot, catching the pony fairly on the
nose. As he hastily withdrew his head, she took advantage of the
opportunity to tighten up on the reins, which brought the animal's
head well up.
All these preparatory activities were observed with intense
interest by cowboys and Overlanders.
"Watch him!" called Hi Lang in an urgent tone.
Grace was watching, her every faculty beat to the task of
discovering what the next move of her mount was to be.
The black, as she tightened the rein, reared high in the air until
his rider seemed to be standing straight up. One moment she felt
that they were both going to fall over backwards, and was about to
clear the stirrups to jump. Instead she brought her crop down on
the black's head, with a resounding whack.
"Yeow!" howled the cowboys, but Grace did not hear them, for the
pony had dropped to all fours, and no sooner had his feet touched
the ground than he leaped clear of it, coming down stiff-legged
with a jolt that jarred Grace Harlowe throughout her body in spite
of her effort to soften the shock by throwing most of her weight
on the stirrups.
"He's going to buck," warned the steady voice of Hi Lang.
Grace knew it in advance of the guide's warning, but, though she
tugged with all her might, she was not strong enough to get the
black bronco's head up so he could not carry out his intention.
There followed a series of bucks and squeals, accompanied with
flying hoofs, that sent the spectators fleeing for safety.
As for the Overland girl, her head was spinning, her hair was down
and her sombrero long since had fallen off and been trampled in
the alkali dust by the hoofs of her mount. The jolting she was
getting was almost more than she could endure and sharp pains were
shooting through her body. This bronco indeed was a master at the
art of bucking, but vicious as were his movements the black had
not succeeded in ridding himself of his rider.
"Look out!" yelled the guide.
All four feet went from under the pony and he struck the ground on
his side with a force that brought a grunt from him. In the cloud
of dust the spectators thought that Grace had been caught under
the horse and crashed. Emma Dean uttered a cry of alarm, and Nora
Wingate turned her head away that she might not see.
"She's all right!" shouted Hiram Lang, who had sprung forward to
give assistance if it were needed.
The pony had thrown itself on its right side. Mr. Lang found Grace
sitting calmly on the side of the saddle, free of the body of the
horse, but breathing heavily. Her quickness had been the means of
her disengaging herself as the bronco threw himself to the ground.
After giving the black a few seconds on his side, the Overland
Rider brought her crop down on his rump with a vicious whack. It
stung. Like a flash the pony was on his feet, with Grace's feet
now planted firmly in the stirrups.
As Grace had expected, the bucking was resumed the instant the
pony felt the smart of the crop. How the dust did fly then, and
how those cowboy wranglers did yell!
"Who's a tenderfoot!" howled Hippy Wingate. "Just watch her
smoke."
Grace Harlowe's whole body was weary, but her grit was not
diminishing in the least. However, she decided that the time had
arrived when she must do a little fighting for herself, and not
leave it all to the pony, so, having arrived at this decision,
Grace watched narrowly for a favorable opportunity to begin.
The opportunity came a few seconds later when the horse threw up
his head preparatory to pitching forward in another series of
savage bucks. Grace jerked the animal's head to one side, brought
her quirt down sharply, and, at the same time, jabbed the little
black fighter with her spurs.
She continued to apply this treatment for several seconds until
the bronco, goaded to a change of tactics, whirled and started
away at a run, driving straight through the assembled crowd. The
crowd fled for their lives with Grace unable now to do more than
stay on the saddle.
The black had not gone far before he stopped as suddenly as he had
started, stopped stiff-legged, braced himself and slid on his feet
through the alkali for several yards.
Grace Harlowe had been alert for this very thing, but just the
same the suddenness of the move had nearly unhorsed her. As it was
she fell forward on the neck of the bronco, but, recovering
herself before the animal could begin bucking again, she regained
her former position in the saddle and applied crop and spur
vigorously.
The bronco again tried to buck, but under Grace's lively treatment
he gave it up and started to run, and for the next few minutes
pony and rider went like a black streak across the landscape, the
Overland girl giving the pony no time for anything but to travel
as fast as his legs would carry him, until they were a full two
miles from the village.
Grace finally turned him about, without resistance on the pony's
part, and raced for the corral, driving and urging the pony with
crop and word, bound to wear him down and convince him once and
for all that she was his master.
As the Overland Rider came up to the corral now at a jog trot, the
bronco covered with white foam, the cowboys broke loose. Shrill
cowboy yells, whoops and cat calls and a rattling fire of revolver
shots into the air greeted her achievement.
"Grab him, you duffers!" shouted Hi Lang, running toward the
bronco as he saw Grace wavering on her saddle. "Can't you see that
game kid's all in?"
It was only by the exercise of sheer pluck that Grace Harlowe had
held her seat on the saddle throughout that grilling ride. She had
fought and won a battle with an "outlaw" pony that many a hard-
muscled cowboy had fought only to lose. Now that she had
conquered, however, Grace felt weak and dizzy, and the reaction,
she found, was worse than the experience itself.
At Hi Lang's command, half a dozen cowboys had sprung to her
assistance, but it was Hi who held up his arms to help her down.
"Fall over. I'll catch you," he urged.
Grace shook her head and tried to smile.
"I--I think I can make it, tha--ank you," she gasped, freeing her
feet from the stirrups and slipping limply until her feet touched
the ground. For a moment she stood leaning against the bronco for
support, one hand clinging to the pommel of the saddle.
The guide sought to draw her away, fearful that the pony might
spring to one side and let loose a volley of kicks.
Grace shook her head, her left hand grasped the mane of the pony
and she pulled herself to his head. Fumbling in her pocket, she
drew forth a piece of candy and felt rather than, saw the bronco's
lips close over the sweet morsel.
"Wall, ef thet don't beat the Dutch!" exclaimed a cowboy. "A
bronc' eatin' outer a lady's hand. What's the alkali flats a-
comin' to!"
"She's a reg'lar lion tamer, thet's the shorest thing I know,"
declared another. "Hey! What's up now?"
Grace's fingers had slowly relaxed their grip on the black
bronco's mane, a faint moan escaped her lips, and the Overland
girl slipped down under the pony's neck in a dead faint. The
bronco, merely by lifting a forefoot and bringing it down on his
conqueror, could have crushed the life out of Grace Harlowe.
Instead, the horse arched his neck, curled his head down and nosed
her with the nearest approach to affection that any man there ever
had seen a bronco exhibit.
Hi Lang gathered the unconscious girl up cautiously and carried
her to a safe spot where he laid her down.
"Get water. Everybody stand back and give her air," he directed.
"I will look after her," said Elfreda Brigg hurrying to Grace's
side.
The water, fetched in a cowboy's hat, came hand just as Grace
regained consciousness Elfreda bathed her face from the hat and
fanned her with her own sombrero.
"What a per--perfectly silly thing for me do," muttered Grace,
raising herself on elbow.
"If you mean riding that wild animal, I agree with you," frowned
Miss Briggs.
"I mean the faint. What will these men think of me!"
"I reckon if you'll give them a chance they'll tell you what they
think," interjected Hi Lang. "Bud, come here," he called,
beckoning to one of the wranglers. "This little lady wants to know
what you fellows think of a woman who rides a horse and then
faints away. Tell her."
Bud stepped up, flushing painfully under his tan, awkwardly
fumbling his hat.
"Ah--Ah reckon they think thet you're 'bout the gamest little
sport thet ever hit the leather," declared Bud. "Any feller thet
sez you ain't, is a liar and a hoss thief!" Bud glared about him
as if challenging some one to take up his defi.
Grace laughed so merrily that, for the moment, she forgot that she
was supposed to be in a fainting condition. Getting up rather
unsteadily, she offered her hand to the cowboy, who, in his
embarrassment, instantly dropped his bravado and half held out a
limp paw for Grace to shake.
"Them's our sentiments. We double cinch what Bud jest articulated,
Lady," called a cowboy voice.
"Thank you, Bud. Thank you all, fellows. It is much higher praise
than I deserve," she replied, smiling and waving a hand to the
group.
"Where do you all reckon on goin', Miss?" questioned another of
the men.
Grace told him that they had planned to cross the American Desert.
"And maybe we're going to look for a lost gold mine or a diamond
mine or an iron mine down in the Specter Range, or something
equally exciting," added Hippy Wingate.
"Reckon there ain't no such animal in these here parts," drawled
Bud. "If you all need help any old time, Ah reckon you all know
where to come for it, Lady," he added.
Grace thanked him and said she would remember.
"You are not thinking of riding that black bronco, are you!"
questioned Tom Gray. "What's the next move?"
"Yes, to your first question. We expect to make our start this
afternoon, unless Mr. Lang advises to the contrary. What do you
say, Mr. Lang?"
"I reckoned that, after what you've been through, you'd be wishing
to lay up for the rest of the day," replied the guide.
"That would be the sensible course to follow," agreed Grace's
husband.
"No. No change of plans is necessary so far as I am concerned,"
she replied. "Mr. Lang, will you please ask one of the boys to
groom Blackie--that is what I shall call my pony--and not to be
cross with him? I do not wish the little fellow stirred up. I have
him temporarily under control, and am certain that after I have
ridden him for a day he will be as manageable as the rest of them.
Where shall we meet you, Mr. Lang?"
"Eight here at the corral. Three o'clock." Hi turned his back on
them and walked away to give Grace's directions about the bronco
to one of the wranglers.
"I am going back to the hotel to lie down for an hour," announced
Grace. "Tom, you may go out and do a little shopping for me while
I am resting. Girls," she said, turning to her companions, "I
would suggest that all of yon turn in for a beauty sleep. You will
need it, for we shall have a hot, dusty ride between here and the
mountains, which we shall not reach until some time this evening.
If you have any further purchases to make at the general store,
you had better make them now, or let Tom do it for you. We must be
on time at the corral. Mr. Lang probably has timed our departure
to fit certain plans of his own."
The girls said they had completed their purchases, and shortly
after that all were sound asleep, fortifying themselves for the
experiences before them, experiences that were destined to be the
most strenuous that they had ever met with, outside of the battle
front in France.
CHAPTER III
A THRILLING MOMENT
"We are ready, Mr. Lang," greeted Grace Harlowe as she and her
party came up to the corral where the guide was supervising the
saddling of the ponies for the outfit.
The girls now wore the overseas uniforms that they had worn in
their ride over the Old Apache Trail. In addition, a red bandana
handkerchief was twisted about the neck of each Overland Rider, in
true western style, to keep the alkali dust from sifting down
their necks.
All the equipment except mess kits and emergency rations, and a
canteen of water for each, had been sent forward on the burros in
charge of the Chinaman, Ping Wing, whom the Overland girls had not
yet met.
"How is Blackie behaving at present, Mr. Lang?" questioned Grace,
stepping over towards the guide, who was readjusting the cinch-
girth on the little animal.
"Quiet as a kitten after finding a nest of young mice. Better put
your revolver in the saddle holster where it will be handy. That's
where I carry mine. The lieutenant is stowing his now. Never know
when the 'hardware' is going to come in handy on the desert."
A lump of sugar found its way into the black bronco's mouth from
Grace Harlowe's hand, as she petted and talked to the little
fellow. This time his ears were tilted forward, and he stood
motionless while his new master was caressing him. The instant
Grace stepped away, however, the black grew restless. He dragged
the cowboy who was holding him and threatened to break away, nor
was he quieted until Grace herself intervened and, slipping the
bridle rein over her arm and leading the pony, walked over to Tom
Gray.
"No wonder you are successful in managing a husband," observed
Tom. "Even the dumb animals bow to your will."
"Now, Tom," protested Grace laughingly, the color mounting to her
cheeks. "That wasn't a bit nice of you."
"Ready whenever you are, Mrs. Gray," interrupted the voice of Hi
Lang.
Grace turned to her husband, the laughter gone from her face.
"I shall miss you, Tom dear. Write to Yvonne as often as you can,
and to me, but Yvonne needs our letters to keep her from getting
lonely at school. Good-bye and the best of luck, as we used to say
when we were in France."
Grace patted the neck of the black bronco, and Tom assisted her to
the saddle. Blackie began to prance, but, though he threatened to
buck, he did not. Grace finally subdued him and sat waiting for
her companions to mount, all of whom managed the operation
successfully, though Emma Dean was twice nearly unhorsed.
The cowboys, as the Overland girls observed, were saddled up as if
they too were going along, but she supposed they were starting out
on some duty connected with their work. All but two of them
mounted, and there followed an exhibition of prancing and bucking
that furnished amusement and interest to Grace and her friends.
Bud and a companion finally rode up before Grace and dismounted,
the former removing his sombrero and approaching her awkwardly.
Glancing inquiringly at Mr. Lang, Grace saw that he was smiling.
"Bud has something on his mind. I reckon he wants to unload, Mrs.
Gray," announced the guide.
"Yes, Bud?" smiled Grace encouragingly. "What is it?"
"It's yourself, Miss. The bunch here reckoned as I, bein' gifted
with the knack of gab, it fer me to speak for 'em. They're tongue-
tied when there's a woman on the premises."
"What is it the 'bunch' wishes you to say to me?" asked the
Overland girl.
"They seen you bust the black bronc' this morning, and bein' as no
female woman ever pulled off a stunt like it in these parts, they
reckoned it might not make you mad if they told you you was all to
the good."
"Thank you--thank you all." Grace waved a hand and smiled at the
eager faces of the cowboys who, lined up on their ponies, just to
the rear of Bud and a companion, were eagerly hanging on Bud's
words, but not taking their gaze from Grace Harlowe's face for an
instant.
"The bunch reckoned, too, that bein' a champeen mebby you'd take a
little present from 'em. I ain't much on spreadin' the dough, even
if I have some gab," added Bud, floundering for the rest of his
speech.
"Bud, I'm just as excited as you are, and, were I in your place, I
should not know what to say next," comforted Grace seriously.
"What is it that the 'bunch' wished you to give to me?"
Bud reached a hand behind him, whereupon his companion placed
something in it. Emma Dean whispered to Nora that it looked like a
blacksnake all coiled up and ready to jump.
"This here," resumed the cowboy, holding up the coil that had been
passed to him, "is a real Mexican lariat, made by a Greaser, but
real horsehair, and warranted not to kink or to miss in the hands
of a lady. The bunch reckons they'd like to give it to you to
remember 'em by," concluded Bud, stepping forward and handing the
lariat to Grace.
"Bud--boys, I don't need anything to make me remember you, but of
course I will accept your thoughtful gift. I never threw a rope
and could not hit the side of a barn with one, but now that you
have given me this beautiful piece of rope I am going to learn to
throw it. Mr. Lang, will you teach me how to rope--to throw the
lasso?"
The guide nodded.
"If we come back this way, I hope I shall see all you boys here,
and I will then throw the rope for you and you shall tell me
whether or not I am a hopeless tenderfoot."
"You ain't no tenderfoot already," called a cowboy.
"Thank you. Good-bye, all." Grace waved her sombrero, and, blowing
a kiss to her husband, clucked to her pony and was off at a
gallop, following in the wake of Hi Lang, who had already started
on.
The others of the Overland party swung in and the party began its
journey. They had gone but a short distance when, hearing shouts
to the rear, they turned to discover the cowboys racing toward
them in a cloud of dust.
"What do they want, Mr. Lang!" called Grace, urging her pony up to
him.
"I reckon they're coming out to give you a send off," answered the
guide.
As they approached, the cowboys spread out and began circling the
galloping Overlanders, yelling, whooping and firing their
revolvers into the air. Now and then one's sombrero would fly off,
whereupon a following cowboy would swing down from his saddle and
scoop up the hat.
Ropes began to wiggle through the air as the western riders sought
to rope each other. They were giving Grace Harlowe a demonstration
of what western roping was, and, as she rode, Grace observed and
enjoyed, as did her companions.
Suddenly a rope darted into the air behind her, and, had she not
seen its shadow, Grace surely would have been caught. Interpreting
that shadow for what it was the Overland Rider threw herself
forward on her pony's neck just as the loop descended. It dropped
lightly on her back, but she was out from under it in a flash,
and, as she sped on, she turned a laughing face to the roper, who
was being rewarded by the jeers of his companions who had chanced
to see him make the cast and fail.
Howling and whooping like a wild Indian, another rider shot
directly across Grace's path, his glee spinning his sombrero as
high in the air as he could throw it, intending to ride under and
catch it. Grace's revolver, the same weapon that she had taken
from Belle Bates, the wife of the bandit of the Apache Trail,
whipped out of its holster in a second. Her first shot at the
spinning hat missed, but her second shot was a hit. She put a hole
right through the crown of the hat.
The whooping and yelling was renewed as the owner of the hat
scooped it up from the ground and held it up for the others to
see. There were two, however, who were taking no interest in the
shooting--the cowboy who had tried to rope Grace, and a companion
who was chasing and trying to rope him in payment for his
unsportsmanlike attempt to cast his lariat over Grace Harlowe's
head.
The two were darting in and out among the racing cowboys and
Overlanders at the imminent peril of running down some one; the
dust was a suffocating, choking cloud except as they rode ahead,
and then only those in the lead were out of the worst of it. The
Overlanders were coughing and perspiring, and the shouting and
shooting at times made conversation well nigh. impossible.
"What is this, a wild west show?" cried Elfreda Briggs, riding
toward Grace Harlowe, who was entering into the sport with a zest
that set Hi Lang's head nodding in approval.
"The real wild west, Elfreda. It is not easy to find, but we have
found it in earnest. Oh! Look at that!"
The pursuing cowboy had now roped a hind foot of the pony ridden
by the man who had attempted to lasso Grace Harlowe.
The lariat being attached to the pommel of the thrower's saddle,
the roped pony went down on its nose, violently hurling its rider
to the ground, but the little horse was up in a flash, galloping
away and dragging along the rope which it had jerked free from the
owner's hands and from the saddle pommel.
Not only was it dragging the lasso, but also its cowboy rider,
who, with one foot caught in a stirrup, was being bumped along on
his back over the uneven ground.
Elfreda Briggs, nearest to the fallen cowboy, instantly spurred
her pony after the runaway. She was abreast of it in a moment.
Grasping the bridle of the runaway, Elfreda tugged at it with all
her might in her endeavor to stop the animal, shouting, "Whoa!
Whoa!"
In the meantime, Grace on Blackie was heading for the scene at top
speed, seeking to head off the runaway.
Others also were trying to stop the animal and rescue the fallen
cowboy, but it was Elfreda's race, with Grace following her.
Elfreda was clinging desperately to the bridle of the runaway with
one hand, the other holding fast to the pommel of her saddle, but
despite all her efforts she failed to check the speed of the
runaway, leaning over toward it further and further as the space
between the two ponies widened.
This meant a fall for Elfreda, as she suddenly realized.
"Let go!" cried Grace, but Elfreda was too busy to hear and still
held on to the runaway.
The runaway swerved sharply to the right. Miss Briggs had the
presence of mind to kick back with both feet as she felt herself
going to fall off. She did this to clear her feet from the
stirrups so that when she fell she might not be dragged along on
the ground by one foot. She was now leaning too far over to be
able to recover her balance on her own saddle.
Miss Briggs suddenly let go of the pommel of her saddle as she
felt herself slipping, and threw both arms about the neck of the
runaway, to which she clung with all her might.
"Whoa! Whoa!" she gasped chokingly, her feet whipping the ground
with every leap of the runaway as she was dragged along. Elfreda
was taking severe punishment, but she was enduring it pluckily,
determined to hang on until either the runaway stopped or her arms
came off.
Grace Harlowe drew down rapidly on the runaway and its victims,
having so timed her arrival that she succeeded in heading the pony
off, with several yards between it and herself.
"Whoa! Whoa!" commanded Grace sharply, at the same time hurling
her sombrero into the face of the runaway. Instead of slowing
down, he came on with a rush, and Grace, who was now directly in
his path, saw that she could not avoid a collision.
The bronco ridden by Grace braced himself, seeming to know
instinctively what was coming.
In the next moment the runaway plunged against Blackie, and the
impact bowled Blackie over flat on his side.
Grace already had slipped her feet from the stirrups, and, when
the collision came, she too threw herself on the neck of the
runaway.
"Ha--ang on! We'll stop him!" she cried, her arms now tightly
encircling the runaway's neck, her feet dragging on the ground
just as Elfreda's were.
By this time the two girls on the running pony's neck were
surrounded by mounted cowboys.
"Let go! Jump clear so we kin rope him!" shouted Bud, for the men
dared not rope and throw the horse, fearing that he might fall on
one of the girls and crush her.
The cowboys did not seem to realize that neither girl would let go
of her own free will until the runaway had been stopped.
The end came suddenly. The heavy burden on his neck was too much
for the bronco, and, his knees weakening, all at once he stumbled
and went down on his nose, then toppled over on his side,
enveloped in a cloud of dust.
"They're caught!" shouted Hi Lang.
CHAPTER IV
PING WING MAKES A DISCOVERY
When the cowboys, with Hi Lang in the lead, reached the Overland
girls, they discovered Grace Harlowe calmly sitting on the runaway
bronco's head to hold him down.
"Get Miss Briggs out from between the pony's legs. She can't help
herself. Drag the man out, too. The pony fell on him," urged
Grace.
"Are you hurt, Mrs. Gray!" begged Hi anxiously.
"No."
"And Miss Briggs!"
"I think not. She was a little stunned when we fell with the
bronco. Hold down his head so I can get to her."
Surrendering her seat on the bronco's head to a cowboy, Grace got
up and insisted in removing Elfreda from her perilous position.
They stood Miss Briggs on her feet, Grace supporting her with an
arm about her waist to give Elfreda opportunity to collect
herself.
"How do you feel now!" asked Grace.
"All--all mussed up," was J. Elfreda's characteristic reply.
Both girls showed the effects of their experience. Their hair was
hanging down their backs, their uniforms were covered with dust
and their faces were grimy from the alkali dirt of the plain.
"Let me walk you about to see if all your joints function,"
suggested Grace.
"They never again will do so properly as long as I live,"
complained Miss Briggs. "Did the ponies run away? I mean our
ponies."
"I have been too busy to notice. If you will sit down I will see
what I can do for the poor fellow who was dragged."
Elfreda insisted on assisting, and a moment later both girls were
kneeling beside the dazed, but conscious, cowboy whose clothing
was in tatters and whose face was scarcely recognizable from the
dust that was ground into it.
Grace moistened her handkerchief with water from her canteen and
bathed the man's face, and Elfreda, producing a bottle of smelling
salts, held it to his nostrils. The cowboy quickly came out of his
daze. One arm was doubled up under his body, and this Elfreda
Briggs carefully drew out. The cowboy groaned as she did so.
"Can you lift your arm!" she asked.
"No," gritted the cowboy, his face twisting with pain as he tried
to raise the arm.
"His left arm is broken," announced Elfreda. "Men, you must get
this poor fellow to town as quickly as possible. I will make a
sling to support the arm until you can get him to a surgeon."
"Do you folks reckon you want to go back to Elk Run, too?"
questioned the guide.
"I was about to ask that question of you," replied Grace, turning
to Elfreda.
"You should know better than to ask," returned Miss Briggs.
"We will go on, Mr. Lang. Perhaps it is as well that we have been
broken in properly at the start. We shall be in better form to
cope with real emergencies if such arise," declared Grace.
"Real! Huh!" grunted Hi Lang.
"Oh, you'll get used to having things happen," soothed Hippy
Wingate. "Wherever this outfit goes there is trouble and then some
more."
"Yes, but this is the worst," complained Emma Dean.
"Alors! Let's go," urged Elfreda Briggs as she got up after having
arranged a sling to support the cowboy's injured arm.
Their ponies were led up by the cowboys and the girls mounted for
a fresh start, Grace and Elfreda considerably rumpled and both
very tired after their lively experience. The cowboys, having
loaded their injured companion on a pony, now gave the Overland
girls a rousing farewell whoop and trotted slowly homeward.
Hi Lang had uttered no comment on what had occurred, but he was
keeping up a constant thinking, now and then scowling observingly
at his charges. Of Grace and Elfreda he had no doubts, for, in his
estimation, they had graduated from the tenderfoot class. The
others had yet to prove themselves.
The ride was hot and dusty, and, in order to make up for lost
time, the party was riding fast, but the ponies, though already
flecked with foam, appeared to be as fresh as at the start.
"What time do you think we will reach the mountains?" called Anne,
who was suffering tortures from the heat and dust.
"Sundown," briefly answered the guide. "It will be worse than this
after we reach the desert."
"Worse!" groaned Emma. "I shall expire, I know I shall."
The mountains, for which they were heading, were looming larger
now, and looked cool and inviting compared to the heat of their
present position.
"What is that smoke?" asked Grace Harlowe, as they neared the
range, pointing to a thin spiral of vapor rising from the
mountains.
"I reckon it's in our camp. Ping should have chow ready by the
time we get there."
"You intend to go on this evening, do you not?" asked Grace.
"Yes. You said you were in a hurry to get to the desert."
"I shouldn't put it that way, Mr. Lang, but I am rather eager to
get into the real phase of our journey, and eager to know what the
desert is like. I have a feeling that I shall love it."
"Some do--some hate it," replied the guide thoughtfully.
"Do you hate it?" questioned the Overland Rider.
"I love it," murmured Hi Lang after a brief silence. "Little
woman, I love the white sands, the burning heat of the day, the
deadly, sweet silence of the night when all the stars come down so
close you can almost reach out and touch them. I love the dead
odor, and then--"
"Yes?" urged Grace.
"I hate it, I fight it--and I win," added the guide in a tone that
was almost triumphant. "Yet, I'd rather be out there where the
starving coyotes howl the night through, where the great, gaunt
gray wolves loom up in the night seeking what they may kill and
eat, or where a step in the dark may be your last should you tread
on a desert rattler. I'd rather be there and face all of that, and
the peril of dying from thirst, than be anywhere else in the
world," he concluded, and then lapsed into silence.
"I understand, Mr. Lang. It is the lure of the desert that appeals
to you, though none knows better than you the perils that lurk
there for the unwary traveler. I hope and believe that I may feel
as you do about it."
"You will, and so will Miss Briggs. I am not so certain about the
others."
"When you get to know us better, Mr. Lang, you will find that,
though some of us complain and fret, all are true blue."
"Humph! Beckon I know something about that myself. What I saw to-
day shows me that I don't have to worry about you and Miss Briggs.
Did you know that Ike Fairweather wrote me a long letter about you
folks!"
Grace looked her interest.
"Yes. Ike said I'd have my hands full, and that you folks would
trot a pace that would make my legs weary trying to keep up with
you. Said you weren't afraid of anything that walked, crept or
crawled."
Grace laughed merrily.
"Mr. Fairweather is mistaken. I am terribly shy of snakes and--
and--well, I don't know what else" she added lamely.
Hi Lang chuckled under his breath.
"Yes, that's our camp where you see the smoke. I just caught a
glimpse of Ping. I reckon when we get closer we'll hear his
voice."
"We are almost there, girls," Grace called back to her companions.
"That is Ping's smoke you see yonder."
"Is Ping on fire?" answered Emma so innocently that the
Overlanders shouted with laughter, and Hi indulged in the hearty,
soundless laugh that they had already discovered was
characteristic of him.
A few moments later a cooling breeze from the range was wafted
down to them, heavy with, odors of mountain and foliage and
suggestive of cooling mountain water as well.
"What's that screeching?" demanded Hippy Wingate, as they fell
into single file and began climbing a narrow mountain trail.
"Screeching?" answered Anne Nesbit. "Why, that's our Celestial
being singing a lullaby to the coyotes lurking in their dens,"
As they drew nearer those in advance could make out some of the
words of the song. The guide pointed to a rock, behind which Ping
was cooking supper, and held up a hand to indicate that the party
was to stop and listen.
"What on earth, is he saying?" wondered Nora Wingate.
"I should call it a heathen version of 'Little Jack Horner,'"
suggested Miss Briggs.
Hi nodded.
"Listen!" urged Grace. "I want to hear it. Perhaps he will sing it
again."
The guide said that when Ping got started on a song he ordinarily
kept it up for some time unless interrupted.
"Sh--h--h!" warned Grace as Emma began to laugh. "He is singing
again."
Ping, in a high falsetto voice that was almost a screech, sang:
"Littee Jack Horner Makee sit inside corner, Chow-chow he Clismas
pie; He put inside t'um, Hab catchee one plum, Hai yah! what one
good chilo (child) my!"
The Overland girls, unable longer to contain their laughter, burst
into a shout of merriment. The song ceased instantly, and a moment
later Ping appeared at the top of the rock, clad in a white linen
suit, the blouse, with its wide-flowing sleeves, being cut in
native Chinese fashion The queue, which Ping had declined to part
was tucked into a side pocket, being all braided up and shiny,
like a snake.
The Chinaman, in greeting, bowed and scraped and smiled and shook
hands with himself cordially.
"Hulloa, Ping Pong! Is supper ready?" called Hippy jovially.
"Him come along, top-side piecee Heaven pidgin man," answered the
Chinaman without an instant's hesitation, which, being freely
translated, meant, "Supper is ready, high Heaven-born man." The
retort brought a peal of laughter from the girls and a flush to
the face of Hippy.
"All right, old top. You win," was the way Hippy confessed his
defeat.
It was a happy, laughing group that rode around the rock and into
the camp where odors of cooking food, and the smiling face of Ping
Wing, met them. Horses were quickly unsaddled and tethered, then
the guide introduced his charges. Ping shook hands with himself at
each introduction, and smiled and bowed with a profound grace that
would have done credit at a king's reception.
"You belongee plenty smart inside," was his greeting to Grace
Harlowe, which she interpreted correctly, Ping having meant to
convey that, in his opinion, she was an intelligent woman.
"Thank you. Is mess ready?"
"Les. You belongee one time Flance!" he questioned, touching the
sleeve of her Red Cross uniform.
"Yes, we all were in France. I drove an ambulance there; Mr.
Wingate was an aviator, and the other young ladies worked in
hospitals and canteens. How do you know about France?"
"Me cook-man in Melican army. No likee war. Belongee too muchee
number one blam, blam!"
"You mean the shooting? You mean you did not like to have the big
German shells come over?" smiled the Overland girl.
"No likee."
Hippy's appetite was getting the better him and at this juncture
he voiced his desire for food.
"Come, come, Ping. We are hungry. Rustle some grub for us, for we
may wish to on our way," urged Hi Lang.
Ping, thus reminded of his duty, hurriedly gathered the mess kits
of the party and soon produced a really fine supper, which the
Overlanders ate sitting on the ground.
"Are you people pretty tired?" questioned Grace.
A chorus of yeses answered her. Elfreda Briggs said she was so
lame that she would be glad never to look at a saddle again, and
Emma Dean declared that her body felt as if it had been
sandpapered.
"I have been thinking that perhaps we had better make camp right
here and go on to the desert some time to-morrow. Will that
interfere with your plans Mr. Lang?" asked Grace.
The guide said it would not, and the girls of the party eagerly
urged that they be permitted to stay where they were and have a
good night's rest, so it was decided to pitch their little tents
on the spot and lay up for the night.
"Ping tells me that a man visited this camp late in the afternoon
and asked a great many questions," Hi Lang then informed them.
"The caller, according to Ping, showed a heap of interest in what
we were here for, where we were going and what we proposed to do,
and said that the best thing for you ladies to do would be to turn
about and go back to Elk Run. Do you know of any one who might be
interested in heading off your journey over the desert, Mrs.
Gray?" he asked, bending a searching look on Grace.
"I do not, Mr. Lang. If I did it would make no difference in our
plans. Ping may be mistaken about the man's motive."
The guide shook his head.
"Ping Wing is not easily deceived. He the caller was a 'number one
blad man,' only he expressed it with some further words to
emphasize his point. There's something about this business that I
don't like. I'll keep my eyes peeled."
"Don't worry, Hi," soothed Hippy. "This outfit can take care of
any bad characters that get in its way. I--"
"Merciful Heaven! What's that!" cried Emma Dean.
"Ping is in trouble!" cried Elfreda.
A shrill screeching, accompanied by the clatter of tinware, a
struggle, then two quick shots brought the Overlanders to their
feet. There was a quick rush toward the scene of the disturbance,
the guide, Grace and Hippy in the lead as they ran stumbling over
the rough ground in the darkness.
CHAPTER V
STALKING A MOUNTAIN MYSTERY
"Ping! Ping!" shouted the guide.
"Where are you, Ping Pong?" added Lieutenant Wingate.
A groan revealed the Chinaman's presence. They found him sitting
on the ground, rocking back and forth holding the thumb of his
right hand. A brief examination revealed that a bullet had clipped
off the end of the thumb.
"I observe that we have started in early," declared Miss Briggs.
"Who did it?"
"That's what I want to know," growled Hi Lang.
"Let me dress the wound, then you can question him," suggested
Elfreda.
This having been done, Ping was led into camp and placed with his
back against a rock where the light of the campfire lighted up his
countenance.
"Tell me what happened!" demanded the guide.
"Big piecee man come 'long. Him clawl like dog. Him listen to what
say."
"To what we were saying!" interjected Grace.
"Les. Him bad piecee man."
Hi Lang and Grace exchanged glances of inquiry. Each was wondering
what the meaning of what Ping had discovered, might be.
"What then!" urged Mr. Lang.
"Him clawl like a dog."
"So you said," piped Emma Dean.
"Me clawl like dog too. One timee me tlow can tlomatoes and hab
hit piecee man on head."
"You threw a can of tomatoes and hit him on the head?" nodded the
guide, whereupon Emma Dean laughed, but no one paid the slightest
heed to her. "What did the man do then!"
"Him jlump. Me hit piecee man with flying pan; then me run. Him
shoot--blam, blam! and run away. Hab hit thumb. Hab makee me stop,
and run away. Why for big piecee man makee so fashion?"
"We do not know why, Ping. That is what we are trying to find
out," answered Grace Harlowe. "Can you tell us how the man
looked!"
The Chinaman shook his head.
"What would you advise, Mr. Lang!" she asked.
"We must beat up about the camp to make certain that he is not
hiding near, then I will stand the watch to-night so that he may
not surise us. I will get out the rifles, but be careful that you
don't shoot each other. In case you discover some one prowling,
make them stand and put up their hands, then call for assistance.
Ping, you will stay here. Three of us will be sufficient to go
out."
"Whom do you wish to accompany you?" asked Grace.
"You and the lieutenant will go, if agreeable to you."
"It will be more agreeable to go than to stay. Elfreda, you will
please watch the camp," directed Grace. "If disturbed, you know
what to do."
Rifles were laid on the ground by the campfire, Hi, Hippy and
Grace having decided that the rifles would be cumbersome to carry,
and that their revolvers would be much more serviceable. After Hi
Lang had given final instructions as to how they were to operate,
the three started out and soon were out of sight of their
companions.
A new moon, fast sinking into the west, shed a faint light over
the mountains, bringing out the bare spots and deepening the
shadows cast by rocks and trees. The stalkers laid their course by
the moon so that they might keep going in one direction and not
get in each other's way, though some little distance separated
them, and only now and then did they come within speaking distance
of one another.
Not a sound did the guide make as he moved forward. Grace was
almost equally quiet in her movement, but now and then Hippy
Wingate would stumble, followed by a grunt or a growl of disgust
that might have been heard several yards away.
Hippy, being between the guide and Grace, knew that two pairs of
ears were alert for any fumbling on his part, which irritated more
than it helped him to be quiet.
Grace finally halted at the edge of an open space, faintly lighted
by the moon's rays, and waited watchfully before attempting to
cross the open spot. Crouching low, she gazed and listened, every
faculty on the alert. The Overland Rider's heart gave a jump when
she saw something move out there behind a clump of bushes.
With revolver at ready, she waited, then leveled the weapon as
something moved out from behind the bushes.
"A coyote," she whispered to herself. "He hasn't heard me."
He heard her whisper, however. The alert ears tilted forward as
the beast halted; then he bounded away and disappeared in a
twinkling.
Grace was now well satisfied that she was proceeding with
sufficient caution. If she could approach a keen-eared coyote
without disturbing it, how much easier would it be to stalk a
human being. Having decided upon this, Grace got up and stepped
into the moonlit space, feeling more confidence in herself.
She had barely reached the middle of the open space when, from the
other side, and plainly at close range, a revolver banged. She
heard the bullet, as it sped past her head too close for comfort.
Without an instant's hesitation, Grace fired two shots from her
revolver at the flash made by the other weapon, then throwing
herself on the ground, wriggled away into a shadow and lay flat on
the ground, screened by the short shrubbery and the unevenness of
the ground.
Two shots were now fired from the other weapon, aimed, as nearly
as she could see, at the place where she had thrown herself down.
To the last two shots Grace made no reply. She lay waiting, hoping
that the person who had fired them, would come out and show
himself.
This he was too wary to do, and finally, becoming impatient, she
groped for a stone, and, finding a small piece of rock, flipped it
into the air, so that it might fall some little distance from her,
hoping thereby to draw the other's fire.
Still there was no response from her adversary.
"He must have slipped away, and here I have been waiting all this
time, afraid of what proves to be nothing. I'm going to start on,"
decided the Overland girl.
Instead of getting up where she was, Grace crawled further to the
right for some little distance, until she was in a heavier shadow.
There she arose cautiously, weapon at ready, prepared to see a
flash and hear the report of a weapon.
Not a sound nor a movement followed her revealing herself. Grace
now pushed on with still greater caution than before, but rather
more rapidly, believing that her companions by this time had
gained a considerable lead over her.
The moon was getting lower, Grace observed, and soon the range
would be enveloped in darkness, though she was certain that she
could find her way back by the stars, from which she already had
taken her bearings.
In the meantime, Hi Lang, having heard the exchange of shots, had
started for the scene at a long, loping trot, now and then giving
an agreed upon signal whistle to warn Lieutenant Wingate of his
approach.
Hippy had heard the shots too, but his orders were to keep his
position and continue on until directed to stop. As Hi got within
speaking distance of him, Hippy challenged.
"Move forward and keep going until I fire three signal shots to
call you in," directed the guide. "The man may run along the
ridge. Wing him if you see him. He may have shot Mrs. Gray. Both
of them fired. There they go again!" Hi Lang was off at top speed.
Grace, in the meantime, thinking that she had heard a twig snap,
halted sharply. Then, to her amazement, a man stepped out into the
light a few yards to the rear of her. She saw him the instant he
emerged from the shadows, and he was looking in the direction of
the Overland camp.
"Now I have you!" muttered Grace Harlowe, taking a cautious step
toward the man who was standing with his back toward her.
"Put up your hands! I have you covered!" she commanded sharply.
The man whirled like a flash and fired point blank at the Overland
girl. Grace fired almost in the same instant. So close was he to
her when he fired that she imagined she could feel the hot powder
strike her face.
Each fired again. It was close quarters for Grace. She sprang to
the right hoping to disconcert her adversary and make a more
difficult mark for him to hit. He pulled the trigger of his
revolver, and, at that second, Grace, uttering a little gasp,
toppled over, half turning as she plunged forward with arms
outstretched.
Black night instantly enveloped the Overland Rider, nor did she
hear a rattling exchange of shots that followed almost instantly
after her fall, for consciousness had left her.
CHAPTER VI
INTO THE GRBAT SILENCE
Hi Lang had reached the scene just as the last shots were being
fired by Grace and her adversary. The guide had seen neither of
the combatants, but he had seen the flashes of their revolvers.
At first he was not certain which was which, but in a moment the
man who had been shooting at Grace revealed himself for a second.
It was then that the guide took a hand.
Hi Lang was a quick and accurate hand with both revolver and
rifle, and he feared no man, nor collection of men. At his second
shot he heard his man utter an exclamation and knew that he had
scored a hit. For the next several minutes the two indulged in
snap-shooting, firing at the slightest sound or movement; then the
mysterious stranger suddenly ceased firing.
The guide was cautious. He did not take advantage of the lull in
hostilities for some little time, and when he did he crawled to
one side and crept noiselessly around to the position that the
stranger had occupied when he had fired his last shot. The man had
disappeared.
Mr. Lang was anxious about Grace Harlowe, but it might be
equivalent to suicide to search for her until he had satisfied
himself that his adversary was either wounded or had gone away.
Finally, having searched all the surrounding bushes and rocks and
finding no one, lie returned to the scene of the shooting, softly
calling to the Overland girl.
There was no response.
Hi stood still for a moment trying to recall where he had seen the
flash of her weapon.
"It must have been about where I am standing now. I--"
Hi Lang suddenly disappeared from sight. The guide had fallen into
a crevice in the rocks, a crevice that had been hidden by dwarf
shrubs and mountain grass, and it seemed a long way to the bottom.
Hi bumped his way to the bottom at the expense of some bruises and
a badly ruffled temper.
"Hulloa!" he exclaimed. "What's this?"
He had touched something that was not rock--something that felt
like a human form. The guide struck a match and peered down at
Grace Harlowe, who lay face down at the bottom, and, as he turned
her face up to the light, he saw flecks of blood on it.
"The hound! He hit her! I'll kill him for that, whoever he may
be!"
Placing a hand over Grace's heart, Hi Lang found that she was
alive.
"Thank God for that! Give me the luck to meet the critter that did
this thing," breathed the desert guide.
Hi lifted the unconscious Overland girl in his arms and began
scrambling toward the top of the big crevice. Finding that he
could not make it without freeing one hand, he slipped an arm
about Grace's waist, holding her with it while he used his free
hand to assist him in climbing to the top. He reached it a little
out of breath.
Without giving a thought now to the peril he was inviting by
showing himself so boldly, Hi stepped out into the open space,
raised his revolver and fired three shots into the air, the signal
of recall for Lieutenant Wingate. Then, gathering Grace in his
arms, he started for the camp in long strides, raging silently at
the ruffian who had tried to kill her.
Elfreda, who was on watch just outside of their camp, heard him
coming and challenged.
"It's Hi. I've got Mrs. Gray."
"Is--is she hurt?" questioned Elfreda more calmly than she felt.
"She's been shot, but she's alive."
Miss Briggs ran to meet the guide, and, walking along at his side,
she placed a finger on Grace's pulse and held it there until they
reached the camp. Nora, Anne and Emma paled as they caught sight
of the limp figure in Hi Lang's arms.
"Who shot her!" asked Elfreda.
"The critter who tried to kill Ping, I suppose."
"Oh, this is terrible!" wailed Emma.
"Get water," directed Miss Briggs, after the guide had placed her
where the light from the fire would shine in her face.
Nora fetched water from the spring near which the camp had been
pitched, and Elfreda bathed the wound that she found on Grace's
head. Elfreda's hospital training during the war, in France, had
already stood her in good stead on several occasions since her
return from Europe.
"This is not a gunshot wound," she announced after a critical
examination of the patient's head.
"Not--not a gunshot--" exclaimed Hi.
"No. It is a severe scalp wound, however."
"What made it, then?" demanded the guide.
"Either she has been struck over the head or she has fallen and
bumped her head against the sharp edge of a rock," answered Miss
Briggs.
The Overland girls drew long breaths of relief.
"I found her in a hole in the ground. Fell into it myself. That's
where she got hurt," said Hi. "She and that critter were shooting
at each other when I came up, then all at once the shooting
stopped. I got in a few shots on him myself. Reckon I winged him
for he quit pretty soon after I got there. What do you think?"
Elfreda, still noting Grace's pulse and peering into her face,
nodded encouragingly, and placed her smelling salts under Grace's
nostrils.
"I feared it might be a fracture, but I believe it is not that
bad. Concussion is the word. She must have struck hard, and it is
a wonder she did not break her neck. You see how the neck is
swollen. Her pulse is getting stronger, and I think she will be
out of her faint in a few moments."
Grace regained consciousness shortly after that, but she was still
dizzy and weak from the severe shock of her fall and the loss of
quite a little blood.
"Where--where was I hit!" was her first question, weakly asked,
"You were not hit anywhere," replied Elfreda. "You fell into a
hole and landed on your head. Mr. Lang, will you carry her to her
tent? She must be quiet for the rest of the night, and it won't do
for us to start across the desert until she has had a good rest."
"That suits me. I've got a little job on hand for the morning.
Here's the lieutenant," he added, as Hippy came in, wiping the
perspiration from his forehead.
"What's this! Brown Eyes knocked out again?" he demanded.
"She fell down and hurt herself," answered Elfreda.
"What was the shooting, Hi?"
"Mrs. Gray and that critter out there were doing it. I reckon she
pinked the pirate, for he was shooting with his left hand when he
opened up on me. I reckon I touched him up too, and, getting
enough of it, he cleared out. I'll get him for that," added Hi,
gathering Grace up and carrying her to her tent. "To-morrow we'll
go out and see if we can't round up that critter. Can't do
anything to-night except to see that he doesn't do any more damage
to this outfit."
"I think I'd like to get a shot at him myself," observed Hippy.
"There, Mrs. Gray! You keep quiet. If there's any more scouting to
be done this evening, the lieutenant and I will do it," directed
the guide, laying down his burden.
Hippy nodded.
"Lieutenant, what do you think of this business? Are you certain
that you folks haven't any enemies!" asked Mr. Lang when the two
had walked out beyond the camp and sat down to talk over the
affair.
"Not that I know of, in these parts, Hi."
"It's mighty queer. I can't figure it out," pondered the guide.
"Have you any?" asked Hippy carelessly.
"Reckon I have plenty. They know better'n to cross my trail,
though."
"It strikes me, Hi, old man, that one of them crossed your trail
this evening," chuckled Hippy Wingate.
The guide made no reply then, and for some moments thereafter
occupied himself with his own thoughts.
"You asked me just now if I had any enemies. I'll say this, Lieu--
"
BANG! BANG!
Two quick shots were fired from behind Hippy and the guide. One
bullet passed between the two men, the other clipped the crown, of
Lieutenant Wingate's sombrero.
The answer came, it seemed, within a second after the two shots.
Hippy and the guide leaped to their feet, drawing their revolvers
as they did so, and emptying them into the bushes, firing low and
trying to cover all the ground where a man might be lurking.
"As you were about to say," drawled Hippy, slipping another clip
of ammunition into his revolver.
"That there is one man who might and would get me if he thought he
could get away with it. But why should he wish to shoot a woman?
Crawl out to the left and then go in and let the folks know
everything is all right now. I'm going to hang around a bit and
try to tease that cayuse into shooting at me again."
"They're at it again," complained Grace Harlowe in her tent. "Go
out, Elfreda, am see if any one is hit."
Hippy was reassuring the girls when Elfreda came out.
"Humph!" exclaimed Miss Briggs. "We surely are making a brilliant
start. I think I shall be glad to get on the desert. One can see
such a long way there. Grace is anxious to know about those shots,
so I will run in and tell her. Are you going out again, Hippy?"
"Not unless I get a word from Hi. You see I do not know where he
is, and it would not be safe for either of us were we both to be
out there without either knowing where the other is."
Ping, wide-eyed, was an eager listener to what Lieutenant Wingate
had to say, but he made no comment, and no song that fitted the
situation found expression on his lips.
An hour passed, and the guide had not returned. The girls were
getting anxious, but Hippy said that, no shots having been heard,
it was safe to assume that no one could have been hit.
No one had, and all this time Hi Lang, almost within sound of
their voices, had been lying flat on top of a rock, listening with
every faculty on the alert. For two hours the guide remained in
one position, watching, waiting and eagerly hoping.
"One shot--just one second when I can see my mark, is all I ask,"
he muttered. "I'll get that shot yet!"
A few moments later Hi crept down from his hiding place and
returned to camp, on the alert every second of the way for the
report of a revolver and the whistle of a bullet.
"This beats me," he declared in answer to Hippy's question as to
whether or not he had discovered anything. "Yon folks turn in,
How's Mrs. Gray?"
"Asleep," answered Miss Briggs. "I think she will be ready for a
start some time to-morrow."
The guide told Lieutenant Wingate to turn in also, saying that he
would watch the camp through the night, so the Overland Riders
went to bed for what sleep they could get, but they passed a
restless night, starting up at every sound, listening for the
report of rifle or revolver or a call for help. Nothing disturbing
occurred. Shortly after daylight, Grace got up and dressed and
went out to breathe in the invigorating, sweet mountain air. She
felt strong and able to meet whatever emergency she might be
called upon to face.
Hi Lang was nowhere in sight. Ping, who was fussing with a cook
fire preparatory to getting breakfast, shook his head when Grace
asked him where the guide was.
"No can tell," he said, caressing his injured hand.
Breakfast was served at seven o'clock, but long before that Grace
had been out looking for trail signs and finding some, though she
could not tell whether they had been left by a prowler or by one
of her own party.
It was eleven o'clock that forenoon when Hi Lang strode into camp,
his rifle slung under one arm, a heavy revolver on either hip.
The greeting of the girls brought a smile to the face of the
guide. They were relieved and glad to see him, and he saw it. He
also was glad to be with them once more, for, in the brief time he
had known them, he had grown to feel a genuine affection for these
bright-eyed, plucky young women who preferred to spend their
vacation on his beloved desert rather than dance away the weeks of
their vacation at some fashionable summer resort.
"Mr. Lang, where have you been?" cried Emma Dean.
"Out looking for game," he answered briefly, laying aside his
rifle.
"Did you find it?" asked Grace smilingly.
"No. Ping, bring me some chow. How you feeling this morning, Mrs.
Gray?" he asked after he had begun eating his breakfast.
"Fit and fine, sir. You found a trail, I take it," she added in a
lower voice.
"Yes." Hi gave her a quick look of appreciation for her keenness.
"You hit your man all right. I found blood where he was standing
when you two were shooting at each other. I also found the trail,
further on, the trail of the same man and another. There were two
of them."
"I wonder which, one it was that put a hole through my perfectly
new hat," grumbled Hippy.
"At least one of them has left the range," resumed the guide. "I
found the trail of a pony and footprints of one man on the other
side of the range, but what became of the other fellow, I don't
know. I'm going out again after breakfast and look further. Do you
feel like making a start to-day?"
"Yes. I think we should be moving," replied Grace.
"We'll leave after chow this evening. Better get what rest you can
to-day. Lieutenant, I wish you would stick around and see that the
camp is not bothered."
"If you need him, Mr. Lang, we can protect ourselves. Do not worry
about us," interjected Grace.
"Don't need him. Ping, put some grub in my pack, then I'm off."
After the guide's departure time dragged rather heavily for the
girls. Later in the day Grace took her pony out for a gallop and
felt better for the change. At four o'clock Mr. Lang came in, and,
though he had been up all night and had been hiking in the
mountains all day long since early morning, he appeared fresh and
alert.
"Pack up and get out!" he ordered, nodding to Ping Wing. "Serve
the grub on our mess kits first. Follow the foothills and we will
catch up with you. I give it up, folks. This mystery has got to
solve itself. It's too much for me."
"Don't worry, Mr. Lang. If our friend the mystery man keeps at us
long enough we shall catch him. I wish we knew why he is bothering
us so," said Grace. "I should prefer to stay here until we solve
the mystery, but we must be on our way, and perhaps he may follow
us."
"That sounds interesting," observed Miss Briggs.
Ping and his lazy burros started about an hour before the rest of
the party got under way, and when they did get under way they
jogged along slowly through the foothills of the range, where the
going was fairly easy. The guide said they should come up with
Ping before dark, and that they would, after having mess, then
continue on at a slower pace until they reached a suitable camping
place for the night.
Dusk was upon them when they finally overtook the Chinaman, who
was sitting on the rump of a burro chattering to his mount to get
him to go faster, but without much success. The ponies of the
party then took the lead, which, Hi Lang said, would induce the
burros to move faster in an effort to keep up, but it was a much
slower pace than the Overland Riders were in the habit of
traveling, that they now dropped into.
Night enveloped the outfit suddenly, it seemed to them, and with
the cool of the evening their spirits rose. Even Ping's spirits
rose, until he forgot his aching thumb and broke into song.
The ground began to slope away under the hoofs of the horses, for
they were now moving down a sharp descent, and the air seemed to
take on a strange new quality, a new odor. No longer could the
girls hear the rustling of foliage. A great and impressive silence
settled over them, in which even the footfalls of the ponies were
soft and subdued. Glancing up, they saw the stars shining with a
brilliancy that none of the party had ever observed before.
The chatter of the Overland Riders died away, and Ping Wing's song
died away, also, in a throaty gurgle.
"What is it?" cried Emma Dean. "I feel queer, and my pony is
trembling. Oh, Grace, I'm afraid of something."
Grace knew what it was that was disturbing Emma, for she felt
something of the same sensation that Emma was experiencing, but
she made no reply.
"It is the desert!" answered the guide solemnly. "It is the
mystery of the desert, a mystery that no man can solve. Perhaps it
is the mystery of centuries; perhaps it is the spirits of the
thousands who have perished here on this sweet, cruel sea of
burning sand, that have come back to warn us living ones of the
fate that may be in store for us who dare."
"The mystery of the desert," murmured Grace Harlowe, but Hi Lang
spoke no more. His lips seemed sealed, though could they have seen
his face they would have observed a new and more tender expression
there, and seen him inhale in deep breaths, heavy draughts of the
faintly scented air of the desert that he both loved and hated.
CHAPTER VII
THE FIRST DESERT CAMP
"How far do we go to-night?" asked Grace, after a long silence,
during which the party moved steadily forward.
"Until we find a tank," was the brief reply uttered by Hi Lang.
"What's that he says?" questioned Hippy.
"Mr. Lang says that we must keep on going until we reach a tank,
whatever that may be," answered Grace. "Will you please explain,
Mr. Lang?"
"Tank is a water hole covered by a thin crust of alkali. Sometimes
the crust is there but the water isn't," the guide informed her.
"Do you know where to find one?" questioned Hippy.
"I know where one ought to be, but you can't most always tell.
Ought to reach this one about midnight. If we get water there we
will be all right. Go easy with your canteens, for if we shouldn't
find water you will need what you have."
"Mine is all gone now," spoke up Emma Dean. "May I have a drink of
yours, Grace? My throat is burning."
"One little swallow," admonished Grace, passing her canteen to
Emma. "You heard what the guide said."
"Yes, you'll wish you were a camel before you have done with this
journey," added Lieutenant Wingate.
Too weary to talk, Anne and Nora were nodding on their saddles,
but Elfreda was wide awake and alert, filled with a wonder that
was akin to awe at the vast mysteriousness of the desert night.
It was shortly after midnight when Hi Lang halted and sat
surveying his surroundings.
"Dismount and rest!" was his brief command.
The Overland girls slid from their saddles, and the guide, after
handing his bridle-rein to Ping, strode off into the darkness.
"Oh, this is terrible!" wailed Emma. "I know I shall expire."
"Good! Then we shall have a little peace," retorted Hippy
laughingly.
"Don't," begged Grace. "The poor girl really is suffering, but
when she gets used to the heat and discomforts out here I think
she will really enjoy it." Grace petted the wet neck of her pony
and he nosed her cheek and nibbled at the brim of her sombrero.
"How do you feel, Elfreda?"
"As if I had been wearing a mustard-plaster suit. I am burned from
head to foot."
"Yes, that's the way I feel," cried Emma. "What is good for it,
Grace?"
"Sand," interjected Miss Briggs, which sally caused a laugh and
made the girls feel better.
At this juncture Hi Lang came up to them, walking briskly.
"Stake down and make camp," he ordered.
"You have water?" questioned Hippy.
"Yes. Ping! Hustle your bones. Get some firewood and make a blaze
so we can see what we're doing. When that is ready, get supper
ready, and then pitch the camp."
"Firewood!" scoffed Hippy. "I should like to know where you are
going to find it?"
"Sagebrush! Plenty of that hereabouts."
Hippy could not understand how a fire could be made from green
sagebrush, but he waited to be shown before making further
comments. In a few moments the Chinaman had a little fire blazing,
the guide and Hippy, in the meantime, having staked down the
ponies and relieved the burros of their packs. The burros were
left to roam where they would, Hi assuring his charges that the
pack animals were too lazy to run away.
The girls, while Ping was preparing a light supper for them, set
to work to pitch the tents. Carrying canvas buckets, Hippy and the
guide then hurried to the water hole.
"It won't do to wait for the water, for it has a habit, in this
country, of suddenly disappearing while you wait," explained Hi.
"Yes, but where's the water?" wondered Lieutenant Wingate, as Hi
got down in a hole that he had opened by breaking down the crust
with his boots.
"Give me that blanket and I'll show you," he said, reaching for a
canvas square, which he spread out in the opening and pressed down
with his hands.
In a few moments water began seeping up through the blanket, which
was so placed that it was lower in the middle than at the sides.
"That beats me," marveled Hippy. "How did you know there was water
here?"
"I didn't. I knew where I found it the last time I was this way,
but that didn't mean it would be here this time. These desert
underground streams shift their courses almost as often as the
wind does. Hand me a bucket."
Two buckets were finally filled and passed up to Hippy.
"Water the ponies first. Give them only a little at first. They're
too warm to drink their fill. When you come back bring the red
buckets for water for us to drink," directed the guide.
Hippy, marveling at the ways of the desert, took the buckets and
began watering the ponies. The two bucketfuls answered for four of
them, and by the time he returned to the water hole Hi had two
more bucketfuls ready for him. In this way all the ponies and the
burros were supplied with water, and Hi, working as fast as lie
could, filled all the buckets for the night's use of man and
beast, then scrambled out of the water hole.
"I hope we still find water here in the morning," he said.
"What if we do not?"
"Then we go without it, Lieutenant. One has to get used to thirst
out here. You will see many a dry day before we finish our
journey."
"Hm--m--m--m!" mused Hippy reflectively.
"Him come along," cried Ping Wing in a shrill voice, meaning that
supper was ready, as the two men with their water buckets entered
the camp.
"Four meals a day, eh?" grinned Hippy. "That is what I call the
proper thing. I shall have to readjust myself so as to know how to
live on four meals a day, but I am so hungry now that you can see
right through me."
"We always could," teased Miss Briggs.
Now that the supper was ready, Ping piled more sagebrush on the
fire and made a blaze that lighted up the little desert camp, its
white tents standing out clearly defined in the light and
appearing very small. Just beyond them the "crunch, crunch" of the
ponies' teeth as they tore at the sage, which was to be their only
food for a long time to come, could be heard, and it really was a
soothing sound in this sea of silence and mystery.
There was bacon, biscuit with honey, and tea for their midnight
luncheon. Emma and Hippy were first to try the bacon, but no
sooner did they taste of it than they began to choke and sputter.
"Awful! What stuff are you feeding me?" cried Emma.
"Yes, some one is trying to poison us," groaned Hippy.
"What's the matter?" grinned the guide.
"It is the most awful stuff I ever put in my mouth, so bitter I
simply can't eat it," complained Emma.
Grace smiled. She had nibbled at a slice of bacon and knew
instantly what caused its bitter taste.
"Alkali," the guide told them. "Everything you eat and drink out
here will taste bitter, but time you will not notice the bitter
taste."
Emma uttered a suppressed wail. There were complaints from each of
the other girls, except Grace, who, though she disliked that
bitter taste as much as did her companions, was too plucky to
voice her dislike.
"You must make certain that your tents are cleared of tarantulas
before you take off your shoes, folks. If you get out of bed in
the night be certain to put your shoes on first so you do not step
on one of the pesky fellows," warned the guide.
"Any other cheerful little features about this camp that you can
think of?" asked Hippy solemnly.
"Plenty, but I'll tell you about them some other time, unless you
discover them for yourselves before then."
"I wish to goodness that I had gone to the seashore where the
worst that can happen to one is to be pinched by a crab or to
drown in the surf," complained Emma.
A laugh cleared the atmosphere, and the girls, immediately after
supper, prepared for bed, which they welcomed eagerly; and soon
after that the camp settled down for the night, enveloped in deep
and profound silence. A gentle breeze, sweetly cool after the
burning heat of the day, crept in and lulled the tired Overlanders
to sleep.
Now and then the silence was broken by the far off echoing scream
of a prowling coyote or the distant hoot of an owl. But the
Overlanders did not hear. They were sleeping soundly, storing up
energy for the coming day, a day that was destined to be filled
with hardships and excitement and peril for them.
CHAPTER VIII
CALLERS DROP IN
Heat waves were shimmering over the eastern horizon when the
Overland girls awakened next morning. The guide had been up since
daybreak fetching "bitter water," as the girls called it, and
serving it to the ponies and burros.
"Whew!" exclaimed Elfreda. "This looks like a warm day."
"Regular Russian bath day," agreed Anne Nesbit.
"I fear we girls will not have any complexions left after this
journey," added Nora Wingate. "I wonder if that husband of mine is
still asleep?"
"Hippy is always sleeping--when he isn't awake or eating,"
declared Emma ambiguously, causing a laugh at her expense.
"You folks made a mistake that time," chuckled Hippy from the
adjoining tent.
"Everybody makes mistakes. That's why they put erasers on lead
pencils," retorted Emma quickly.
"Good night!" they heard Hippy Wingate mutter, after which he
relapsed into silence, while a shout of laughter greeted Emma's
sal.
"Come, girls, turn out," urged Grace. "We have a day ahead of us."
Breakfast was ready when they emerged from their tents, and this
time they ate without complaining of the bitter taste of food and
water.
The sun came up while they were at breakfast, lighting up the
cheerless landscape and whitening the sands. The mountain range
where they first camped had disappeared in the distance and they
were alone in the burning silence. Ahead, here and there, ugly
buttes lay baking in the morning heat, some showing a variety of
dazzling colors, others a dull leaden gray.
"How far do we go to-day, Hi?" questioned Lieutenant Wingate.
"Until we find water," was the brief, but significant reply.
After breakfast, and while Ping, singing happily, was striking
camp and packing the equipment on the burros, Mr. Lang and Hippy
brought in and saddled the ponies, turning each one over to its
rider as it was made ready; then the start was made. Hippy
Wingate, the girls observed, held a small package under one arm,
which he guarded so carefully that it aroused the curiosity of his
companions, but Hippy merely grinned in response to their
questioning.
As the sun rose higher the heat became well nigh unbearable to
some of the party, and especially to Emma, if one were to judge by
her bitter complaints. Emma declared that she never could live
through it, and Grace began to have doubts herself with reference
to her little friend.
As they progressed, the landscape grew more and more desolate and
forbidding. Gaunt ravens soared staring over the wan plains, hairy
tarantulas now and then hopped from the path of the ponies, and
the "side-winder"--the deadly horned rattlesnake, which gets its
name from its peculiar side-long motion as it crawls across the
burning sands--squirmed out of the way, following snorts of fear
from the ponies.
They halted at noon, for a rest and a light luncheon, near one of
the barren buttes. Grace asked if it would not be possible to find
a resting place on the butte where they might shade under a rock.
Hi Lang shook his head.
"Too many snakes up there," he replied. "Dangerous!"
"Br--r--r--r--r!" shivered Emma.
The water carried in canvas receptacles on the burros was
apportioned among the horses and burros, but there was only a
small quantity left for each animal, not more than a quart apiece.
This, however, was enough to take the keen edge from their thirst.
Following the resumption of the journey, Hippy carefully unwrapped
his package, eager eyes observing the operation. The girls gasped
when he threw the wrapping paper away and revealed a dainty blue
silk parasol, which he raised and held over his head.
"Every man his own shade tree," chuckled Hippy. "If any of you
ladies find you are being overcome by the desert heat, you are at
liberty to ride in the shadow cast by my Christmas tree."
"You are very considerate. We thank you," answered Anne.
"Selfish!" rebuked Emma.
Hi Lang laughed silently, but made no comment. Neither heat nor
hardship appeared to affect him unpleasantly. Hi, Grace observed,
appeared always to be in a listening attitude, as if he were
expecting something or some one. Grace asked him why he did so,
but the guide merely smiled and rode on with head slightly tilted
to one side, listening, listening!
Early in the afternoon the guide began looking for water, now and
then dismounting to search about for a tank, breaking in crusts of
alkali, putting an ear to the ground to listen for the murmur of
an underground stream, or feeling with his hands over several
yards of hot sand in search of a cool spot that might indicate
water.
"Nothing doing yet," he announced. "There ought to be a tank about
five miles further on."
However, they had journeyed on ten miles more before a promising
spot was reached, and the guide and Hippy began to dig for the
precious water that Hi said surely was somewhere below them.
They found it finally, but there was so little of it that he was
not certain that they would get enough for their ponies. There was
but little water left in the canteens, none at all in the bags,
and it became necessary to find a supply sufficient for both
ponies and riders.
"Every drop here is precious," warned the guide. "Be careful that
you do not spill any."
Water was first carried to the ponies, small quantities being
given to them as before, the girls assisting in the operation, and
the supply was getting alarmingly low when Grace, returning from
carrying a quart to Blackie, suddenly halted and gazed off across
the desert.
A cloud of dust, that appeared to be approaching, had attracted
her attention. The Overland girl wondered if it was a wind-squall,
such as she had heard was quite common on the desert. After
watching it for a few moments she decided to speak to the guide
and call his attention to it.
"I see it. It's horses," said Elfreda, stepping up beside Grace.
"Do you think so?"
"I know it is."
"Then your eyes are better than mine," answered Grace. "I suppose
it is some party headed for Elk Run. Mr. Lang!" she called.
"What is it?" demanded Hippy, who was standing over the hole in
which the guide was working.
"A party of horsemen coming this way, sir!"
"You don't say! That's right, Hi," said Hippy, speaking to Mr.
Lang. "Quite a bunch of them, too, I should say."
The guide's head appeared above the rim of the water hole and he
gazed searchingly at the oncoming alkali cloud.
"Bunch of cowboys or wild horse hunters," he observed. "Anyway,
we've got first claim on the water." Hi returned to his work and
Hippy resumed passing water to the girls, but kept the approaching
horsemen under observation, as did also Grace Harlowe.
"Those fellows are kicking up an awful lot of dust, it seems to
me," observed Nora Wingate.
"Yes, I hope they slow down before passing us," answered Anne. "I
have swallowed about all the dust to-day that I can digest."
Emma Dean, not to be outdone, declared that she too had swallowed
a lot of dust--so much of it that a good wind would blow her away
and sift her over the desert.
"You surely would be the plaything of the winds in that event,"
murmured Anne.
"They are heading directly for the camp," Hippy was saying to Hi
Lang, but the guide gave no heed. He wished to get all the water
out of the tank that he possibly could before the party reached
them, knowing very well that they, the newcomers, would also want
water.
A few moments later the desert riders galloped up on foaming
ponies. They were not a prepossessing looking lot, and the eight
men of the party carried rifles in their saddle boots and
revolvers on their hips.
"Water!" shouted the one who appeared to be the leader.
"Here's water, old top, but pass it around. We haven't much, of
the alkali beverage on hand this evening." Hippy handed up a
partially filled bucket to one man and another to the rest until
each man had been supplied.
"I'll take the buckets now," announced Hippy.
"Hey, you! Where you all headed for?" demanded Hi, straightening
up and surveying the newcomers narrowly.
"Reckon we might ask the same question of you. Who's them gals?"
questioned the leader.
"That is none of your business who they or we are!" retorted Hippy
Wingate sternly.
"Say, you fellow! Looking for trouble?!" demanded Hi in an even
voice.
"Pass that bucket to me!" commanded Hippy.
"Ye want thet bucket, hey?" leered the desert rider. Then, quick
as a flash he emptied the contents of it over Lieutenant Wingate's
head.
"Get ready for trouble," ordered Grace Harlowe sharply to Elfreda
Briggs, at the same time raising her right hand above her head, a
signal that Emma, Anne and Nora understood. It was the Overland
Riders' signal of distress and meant that all hands should
instantly prepare to defend themselves.
All the girls expected to see Hippy's revolver out of its holster
after that insult. Instead, the desert rider was violently yanked
from his saddle and stood on his head in the sand. So quick had
Lieutenant Wingate been in unhorsing the man that the ugly visitor
had not even time to draw his weapon.
Up to this juncture, Hi Lang had remained in the water hole,
industriously dipping up water, at the same time keeping a wary
eye on the progress of affairs above. He did not think best to
take a hand until hostilities actually began, knowing that were he
to spring out and draw his weapon, the desert riders would shoot
before his revolver was out of its holster.
Peering out cautiously he saw that every man of the desert riders
was resting a careless hand on the butt of his revolver. At the
same time Hi observed something else in the opposite direction.
Grace Harlowe and Elfreda Briggs had stepped up close to the water
hole and each was standing with a hand on her hip.
The situation was resting on a hair trigger, and, even in the
tenseness of the moment, Hi Lang found himself keenly interested
in what he saw--the Overland Riders in action.
The leader of the newcomers sprang to his feet raging. Hippy
Wingate, now close to the man, pushed the flat of his hand against
the fellow's face.
"Get off my desert, you imitation rough-neck," invited Hippy
sweetly. In the same breath he added in a savage tone: "Keep your
hand away from that gun!" emphasizing his command by thrusting the
muzzle of his own revolver against the desert rider's stomach.
The visitor's back was toward his companions, so that they did not
get the full import of what was taking place, but they looked
their amazement when they saw their leader turn his back on Hippy.
They did not know that he was doing this in obedience to
Lieutenant Wingate's order, nor that the leader's revolver at that
moment was in Hippy's hand, Hippy having slipped it from its
holster while still pressing his own weapon against the man who
had ducked him.
"I told you to get off my desert," said Hippy, incisively. "I've
changed my mind. I'm going to kick you off!"
Lieutenant Wingate retreated a step, sprang clear of the ground,
and with a kick that had sent many a ball over the goal, he kicked
the desert leader into the water hole. Hi Lang was not so
considerate. As the fellow scrambled to his feet, Hi laid him flat
on his back with a blow between the eyes that instantly put the
fellow to sleep.
The battle between the two parties of desert travelers was on in a
second.
CHAPTER IX
PIRATES GET A HOT RECEPTION
The desert riders, who had been laughing over their leader's
downfall after Hippy jerked him from his pony, suddenly awakened
to a realization that the scene they had witnessed had ceased to
become a joke.
The rider nearest to the water hole whipped out his revolver and
fired, but the bullet went over Hippy's head for the very good
reason that, expecting this very thing, he had ducked.
Hippy fired in return, hit the pony, and the rider tumbled off as
the pony went down.
Hi Lang was out of the water hole in a twinkling.
"Keep your hands off your guns!" he shouted to the visitors,
drawing his own weapon.
A bullet went through his hat. Another spun |
