Part 13 (1/2)

”I kept my promise,” he went on grimly. ”I went all over the mountain an'

I took them steel traps, one by one, unsprung 'em and dropped 'em down into that crack some earthquake had split into Bald Peak. It's bottomless, seems like, an' what goes into that crack never does no more harm. Now, when I kill a critter that needs killin', I shoot an' they never know what hits 'em. Meg is a sure-shot, too, though she'd never pack a gun if 'twant that I make her.”

They had reached the spot where the mountain lion still lay, and the old man stooped to examine it. ”I reckon that was a sure shot, all right.”

Then he shouldered the limp creature. ”Thar's fifty dollars bounty, so I might as well have it. I'll hunt for the cubs tomorrer. So long. Hit the trail up our way often.”

As Dan walked slowly down the mountain road toward his home cabin, he found that he was more interested in this unknown Meg than he had ever before been in any girl.

Jane's headache was better when Dan returned, but her disposition was worse, and poor Julie was about ready to cry. She had been spoken to so sharply when she had really tried to help. Gerald was angry and indignant. He had at first urged his small sister and comrade to pretend that Jane was being pleasant, but, after a time, even he had decided that such a feat was too much for anyone to accomplish. Then he had intentionally slammed a door and had declared that he hoped it would make ”ol' Jane's” head worse.

It was well that Dan returned just when he did. He entered the cabin living-room calling cheerily, ”Good, Jane, I'm glad to see you are up.”

Then he looked from one to the other. Julie, tearful, rebellious, stood near the kitchen door, and Gerald, with clenched fists, had evidently been saying something of a defiant nature. ”Why, what's the matter? What has gone wrong?”

Dan was indeed dismayed at the picture before him. Jane, who had seated herself in the one comfortable chair in the room, said peevishly: ”Everything is the matter. Dan, you can see for yourself what a mistake I made in coming to this terrible place, and trying to live with these two children who have had no training whatever. They are defiant and rebellious.”

Even as Jane spoke, a memoried picture presented itself of Julie's sweet solicitude for her earlier that morning, but she would not heed, so she hurried on: ”I have been lying in there with this frightful headache thinking it all out, and I have decided that either the children must go back or I will.” A hard look, unusual in Dan's face, appeared there and his voice sounded cold. ”Very well, Jane, I will help you pack. The stage pa.s.ses soon. If we hurry, we may be ready.” The children could hardly keep from shouting for joy. Something which Julie was cooking, boiled over and so she darted to the kitchen, followed by Gerald, who stood upon his head in the middle of the floor. But they had rejoiced too soon, for Gerry, who a moment later went to the brook for water, returned with the disheartening news that the stage was pa.s.sing down their part of the road. Julie plumped down on the floor and her mouth quivered, but before she could cry, Gerald caught her hands, pulled her up and said comfortingly: ”Never mind, Jule. The stage will be going past again on Monday. Me and you'll stay on the watch and tell Mister Sourface to stop for Jane when he goes back to Redfords on Tuesday. That is not so awful long. Oh, boy, then won't we have the time of our lives?”

Julie agreed that they would indeed and decided to be very patient during the remaining two days. So she went back to her cooking and, with Gerald's help, soon had the lunch spread.

Jane ate but little, and again shut herself up in her room for all that afternoon. Dan was almost as glad as were the children that she was to go back to the East, but Jane, strangely enough, was deeply hurt because her brother, who had been her playmate when they were little, and her pal in later years, had actually chosen the younger children in preference to herself. That proved how much he really cared for _her_ and, as for his health, he seemed to be recovering remarkably. He had coughed a while the evening before, and for a shorter time that morning.

Then he had evidently been on a long hike. Of all that had happened Dan had said nothing, knowing that Jane would not wish to hear about the mountain girl, toward whom she felt so unkindly.

That afternoon Dan gave the children another lesson at shooting cones from an old pine, far enough from the cabin to keep from disturbing Jane.

Julie grew braver as she watched Gerald's success, and at last she too tried, and when, after many failures, she sent a brown cone spinning, she leaped about wild with joy.

”Now we are both sharpshooters,” Gerald cried generously. Then, glancing over at the cabin, he added: ”There's Jane sitting out on the porch. She does look sort of sick, doesn't she?”

Dan's heart was touched when he saw the forlorn att.i.tude of the sister he so loved. ”You youngsters amuse yourselves for a while,” he suggested, ”I want to have a quiet talk with Jane.” Dan neglected to tell the children not to wander away.

CHAPTER XVII.

QUEER KITTENS

Left alone, Julie and Gerald scrambled to the road and looked both up and down. ”Which way will we go?” Julie inquired.

”We've been down--or, I mean, we've been up the down road.” Then the boy laughed. ”Aw, gee! You know what I mean. We came up the road yesterday in the stage; so now, let's go on further up.”

Julie hopped about, clapping her hands gleefully. ”Ohee, I know what!

Let's see if we can find that cabin the innkeeper lady said was about a mile up the mountain road from our place. Wouldn't that be fun? And maybe that nice girl will be at home from school, and, if she is, I just know she'll let me ride her pony.”

Gerald, nothing loath, fell into step by his sister's side, the gun over his shoulder. After the fas.h.i.+on of small brothers, he could not resist teasing. ”I bet you couldn't stay on that pony, however hard you tried.

It's a wild Western broncho sort, like those we saw at Madison Square Garden that time Dad took us to Buffalo Bill's big circus.” Then, in a manner which seemed to imply that he did not wish to boast, he added: ”I sort of think I could ride it easy. Boys get the knack, seems like, without half trying.”

They had rounded the bend and were nearing the very spot where the mountain girl had shot the lion, when Julie clutched her brother's arm and drew him back, whispering excitedly: ”Gerry! Hark! What's that noise I hear?”

The boy listened and then crept cautiously toward the bushes. He also heard queer little crying sounds that were almost plaintive. ”Huh!” he said boldly. ”'Tisn't anything that would hurt us. Sounds to me like kittens crying for their mother.”