CHAPTER VI
With a little sigh of relief and pleasure, Pen laid aside some garments,on which she had been steadily and surreptitiously working, and soughtJo.
"Come down under cover of one of the hills," she urged, "and I will showyou what my part in the day's work will be. Special exhibition. Admittancefree, but no other spectators allowed."
Half an hour later Jo was gazing at her as one gazes at some marvelousperformer, but his awe and admiration were expressed in a simple buteffective phrase:
"Oh, baby, but you can put it over them all!"
That afternoon when the Kingdon household came down to occupy the row ofraised seats erected in the "field," Pen was missing. Her absence was amystery until the following typed programs for the day were handed out:
OUTLAW HORSE SHOW TOP HILL PARK
------
JO GARY, Champion Rider of Top Hill, will ride TURN TURTLE and PINCH HITTER.
SLEEPY SANDY will ride BATTLESHIP GRAY and BABY DOLL.
JAKEY FOURR will ride PICKLED PETE and PIKER.
GENE DOSSEY will ride HIAWATHA and WHIZZ.
------
MISS PENNY ANTE (Miss Penelope Lamont) Will ride _anything brought into the ring_!
------
GREAT EXHIBITION OF ROUGH RIDING by the most notorious riders of the West. Only the most unmanageable animals will be ridden.
Kingdon's eye-glasses came off with a sense of shock.
"This will never do, Margaret!" he exclaimed. "Those crazy boys have nosense. They'll bring out some of those wild horses, and that meek-looking,little daredevil friend of Kurt's will call any bluff. She mustn't beallowed to ride."
His wife restrained him as he started away.
"I feel confident that she can do--anything. She told me she could ride."
"Well," he replied resignedly, "I always have left everything regardinggirls to your judgment, so I suppose I must now, but I am surprised atyou."
The children were thrown into a state of excitement on deciphering Pen'spart in the coming feats.
A bugle sounded.
Into the ring rode the four slim, young top riders of the ranch force,chaparajos and sombreros being much in evidence. They gave the usualstunts in the typical Western way on a track tramped as hard as asphalt,the tattoo of hoofs making the hard earth ring in the soundlessatmosphere. Their feats, singly and together, were marvelous, but therewas lacking to the onlookers the charm of novelty, as they had long beenaccustomed to these and similar exhibitions of horsemanship.
Everyone's heart beat a little faster with expectancy, therefore, whenthere came another blare of the trumpet. Into the ring came "Miss PennyAnte," slim and straight as a boy scout, clad in puttees, dark bluebreeches and an olive-drab blouse.
A sleek, shy colt was suddenly inducted into the scene of action. Thenthere began a frisky game of maneuvers. The little, would-be rider provedas wary and nimble as the colt on which she finally succeeded in shootinga bridle. Another round of come and go, and one leg went over the slenderneck, and then down the glossy back slid the lithe figure. With awondering, protesting neigh, the colt tried all the tactics known to hisspecies, but they were of no avail, and after circling and re-circling thering, Pen calmly relinquished him and awaited the next offer.
A wild-eyed mustang was the victim. As soon as she was mounted, he rosehigh on his hind feet but came down like a lamb and ended in spinning likea top around the ring.
A general protest went up when a demoniacal-looking buckskin wasproduced.
"They are horse-mad!" exclaimed Kingdon. "Margaret, this is going to stopright here."
"Louis," she replied earnestly, "this is only horse-play to Pen. No, I amnot punning. I didn't know she was going to make this exhibition, but someway I feel that she can easily live up to the promises in the program."
With a plunge the buckskin went straight into mid-air and came down hard.Then at full speed amid a whirling of dust, he tried all his tricks, butalways the little figure held her position, easily triumphant, and finallythe hitherto unmountable animal again came trembling to earth andobediently followed his rider's will.
"You've won!" cried the cowboys.
"Now, bring me a horse, a real saddle horse--the kind you give a kingdomfor!" she demanded. "I'd like to _ride_ a bit, if you don't mind."
They brought her a beautiful thoroughbred. She rode around the ring a fewtimes, and then, leaping the fence to the inclosure, was away and over thehills, her blood throbbing, her heart pounding as she felt the soft,southwest wind in her face, the siren song of freedom ringing in her ears.The divine sweetness of the mountain air was in her nostrils. She wasrecalled from her state of rhapsody by the sound of pounding hoofs behindher. She half turned in her saddle, expecting to see Jo. She didn't needthe commanding-toned "Wait!" to rein in her horse.
There was an inscrutable look in the blazing eyes of the approachinghorseman, a compelling force in his broad shoulders as he rode up to her.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"Nowhere. Just riding," she replied.
Her uplifted face was vivid with joy, her eyes sparkling. Suddenly a waveof color suffused her cheeks.
"I wasn't running away!" she declared, suppressing a chuckle. "Honest, Iwasn't. It's field day. I've been doing stunts and I just ached for areal, regular ride. It's so grand to be astride a horse and feel the worldis yours! When did you come home?"
"I haven't come home. I am on my way to Fowler's to subpoena a witness,and I rode this way meaning to stop but a moment. I came over the big hilljust as you rode into the ring."
She stole a look at his impassive face.
"And you saw the sports?"
"Yes; and rode on after you--"
"Because you feared your prisoner might be taking French leave? No; thisis the end of the rainbow to me. I have no desire to leave--at present."
They were riding slowly on.
"Where did you learn to ride?"
"I don't remember; it was so long ago."
"_That_ was circus riding."
"It did look like it," she said deprecatingly.
"If you can ride like that, why did you leave the circus for the life--"
"Of a crook?" she finished. "Suppose I stole a horse and sold it and hadto vamoose. Even circus managers don't employ thieves."
"Who gave you permission to ride to-day?" he demanded.
She pulled from the pocket of her blouse a program and handed it to him.
"You see I was featured," she explained modestly.
He read it with a frown expressive of displeasure.
"Did Mrs. Kingdon know you were going to do this?"
"No one but one of the men knew."
"How did you come to meet the men?"
"The children introduced me to one of them and I met the others at thedance. I never knew what dancing really meant until then. I've learned toplay a very gamey game, too. Craps."
With a jerk Kurt brought his horse to a halt and reaching over caught herbridle as she was about to spur her horse onward.
"Did you tell Mrs. Kingdon everything?" he asked sternly.
"Everything I could remember," she replied demurely. "Far more than I toldyou."
"What did she say?"
"She is going to talk to you and ask you to leave the entire matter in herhands."
He broke the short silence that followed.
"Dancing, craps and bronco-breaking are not what I brought you here for."
"But I've done lots of other things, too. Sewed three days straight,learned how to make salads, heard the children's lessons, picked flowersand getting wise to a home atmosphere every minute. You won't send meaway?"
He was scowling at the program again.
"Why are you called Penny Ante?"
"You object to all of my names. But this one w
as Betty's fault. Sheintroduced me as 'Aunt Penny,' and of course they put it backward."
"Who do they think you are?"
"Your 'lady friend' here for a visit," she answered with the little gigglethat always offended him. Then, appeasingly: "Mrs. Kingdon said it wouldbe better if only you and she knew who I am and why I am here at theranch."
"Go back to the house," he directed. "I'll be home in a few days."
Obediently she turned her horse and he rode in the opposite direction.
"Kurt--Mr. Walters!" she called entreatingly.
He turned in his saddle and waited until she rode back to him.
"There is something I want to tell you," she said, her eyes downcast, afaint note of exultation in her voice. "I haven't taken a thing--or triedto--or wanted to--since I've been here, and I've had lots of chances."
Receiving no reply, she looked up pleadingly, and was startled at thetransformation in his eyes, which were usually narrow, cold and ofsteel-gray shade, but now were dark, shining and full of infinite pity asthey looked down into hers.
"I am glad to hear it," he said gently. "You know that was why I broughtyou here. Now you must do more for me. You mustn't mingle with the men, orrepeat to-day's program. I want you to be like her--a house-woman.Good-bye--until I come home."
He rode swiftly away, and she laughed softly to herself, stoppingsuddenly.
"It isn't so funny after all; it's really pathetic. But--a house-woman! YeGods! That is the last thing I want to be--or could be. It's all well fora novelty, but for steady diet--oh, me! If Hebby could have heard the lawlaid down to me, he'd be overcome with glee. Poor old Heb! I bet he isstill frothing at the mouth because I gave him such a neat slip. I seem,however, to have only succeeded in changing keepers."
She rode on, her conscience smiting her now and then when she recalled thelook in Kurt's eyes.
"I don't deserve pity from him or anyone," she thought a little sadly.
She made no mention at Top Hill of having met the foreman. Notwithstandinghis orders, for three days she revelled in the companionship of Jo and themen.
"We must harvest all the hay we can," she told him, "while Kind Kurt isaway."
On the evening of the third day, she found herself watching the hill roadfrom town.
"I feel like Sister Anne," she thought. "It's odd, why I am wanting him toreturn, for when he does, my fun will be nipped in the bud. It may be thefeeling of a dog for its master that I have acquired for my sheriff man.Jo will be going soon to Westcott's. I think I will play up to Kind Kurtand then tell him what I revealed to Mrs. Kingdon. Wow!"
She turned from the window to hear the message Kingdon had just receivedfrom the telegraph office in town. An old-time friend had asked him tojoin a party of men at a ranch a hundred miles distant. His wife urged himto follow his apparent inclination.
"It'll do you good, Louis, to see more of your kind again."
"I wouldn't consider it if you didn't have such good company," he said,with a whimsical smile in Pen's direction.
The following morning, Jo drove Mrs. Kingdon, Pen and the children to townto see Kingdon off. When his train had pulled out, they went to thepostoffice and Francis was sent in for the mail.
"A letter for you, mother," he said, running up to the car. "It's AuntHelen's writing."
An anxious look came into Margaret Kingdon's eyes as she read.
"Doris is ill, and my sister wants me to come to her," she explained toPen. "She is quite helpless in a sick room and Doris asks for me. There isa train east in an hour and you can send my luggage on to me. I'll returnas soon as Doris is convalescent."
"I will do all I can to help with the children," promised Pen.
"I know you will. And Jo can stop at Mrs. Merlin's and take her to TopHill. She always presides in my absence. She is a good housekeeper and isnever disagreeable or officious."
"Jo says Mrs. Merlin shinnies on her own side," added Billy.
"Jo is right," replied his mother.
At the station Mrs. Kingdon drew Pen aside.
"You must tell Kurt, you know," she cautioned.
Pen looked plaintive, but the conductor's "all aboard" call ended theconversation.
"We'll say our prayers and our lessons like mother told us," said Francisas they motored home, "but of course we can't be too good all the time. Iam going to ride a horse, a real horse--not a pony."
"I am going to sit up late nights," declared Billy.
"And I shall wear your clothes and play I am a boy," Betty informed him.
"Well," thought Pen, "after all these Declarations of Independence, I feelI must get in the forbidden fruit game, too. I know what I'll do. I'll nottell Kurt--not right away, at least."
Half way to the ranch they stopped at Mrs. Merlin's cottage.
"She certainly looks the part of propriety to perfection," thought Pen, asshe surveyed the tall, angular, spectacled woman, who came to the car, andwhose grim features relaxed slightly after a keen glance at the younggirl.
"I'll have four children this time instead of three," she said.
"What would she think," reflected Pen, "if Kind Kurt should tell her whatkind of a child the fourth one is!"
Back at Top Hill, Pen packed the luggage to be expressed to Mrs. Kingdon,and Jo made another trip to town, planning to go from there toWestcott's.
At dinner time Kurt arrived, and Pen chuckled as she easily read hisdismay at the situation.
"He's foreseeing and dreading all sorts of terrible things I may do or amcapable of doing. Just because he is looking for trouble, I have no desireto give it. I'll play a new role and show him what a tame, good littlegirl I can be; maybe I'll like being one and it'll turn out to be a realreform. It would be awfully odd if he found his pedalled ideal in TheThief!"
She was conscious of his searching eyes upon her. She looked demurelydown. In a soft, subdued voice she read little stories to the children,and when their bedtime hour came, she went upstairs with them.
Later she joined him on the library veranda where he was smoking his pipe,for it was one of the few nights when it was warm enough for suchindulgence.
She went up to him unfalteringly.
"I have put myself on honor while Mrs. Kingdon is away," she said gravely."I will try hard to do as you want me to do, but it will be easier for meif you will trust me."
Her eyes looked out so very straight, with none of the worldly wisdom hehad seen in them the day she had been transferred to his guardianship,that he found himself incapable of harboring any further doubt of hersincerity.
"I will," he said staunchly; "I will trust you as she does."
They sat together in the moonlight without further converse and in thereposeful silence a mutual understanding was born.
Presently she went inside and played some old-time airs on the piano withthe caressing, lingering touch of those who play by ear.
"Where did you learn to play?" he asked wonderingly.
She looked up, slightly startled. She hadn't heard him come in and herthoughts had been far away from Top Hill.
"I never did learn," she said, rising from the piano. "I play by ear. Isee it is late. I must go upstairs. Good night, Mr. Walters."
"Good night, Pen," he said kindly.
He returned to the porch and pipe and lost himself in a haze ofdreams--such dreams as had been wont to come to him in his younger dayswhen he had been a cow-puncher pure and simple. Gathered about a roaringcamp fire that lighted up the rough and boisterous faces of hiscompanions, he had seemed as one of them, but later when they had gone towell-earned slumber and it had been his turn to guard the long lines ofcattle in the cool of the cottonwoods, he had used to gaze into themysteries of a desert moon slowly drifting through a cerulean sky anddream a boy's dream of the woman who was to come to him.
As he grew older and came more into contact with the world, he was broughtto an overwhelming realization that the woman of his dreams did not exist.The knowledge made an ache in his heart, but to-night
he was again longingwith the primary instinct that would not be killed,--longing for the One.
Pen went to bed and to sleep. The next day she was a perfect model of ayoung housewife. She helped the children with their little lessons, filledall the vases, trained some vines, and then with some needlework went outon the veranda. At the table she listened and responded interestedly toMrs. Merlin's bromidic remarks, was gentle with the children and mostflatteringly deferential to Kurt. Of her former banter and coquetry towardhim there was no trace. After the children had gone to bed, she playedcribbage with Mrs. Merlin while Kurt read the papers.
When she was undressing that night she examined her shoulders in themirror very closely.
"There should be little wings sprouting. I was never even make-believegood before. The relapse will be a winner when it comes. If I could onlysteady down to something like a normal life. But I never shall."
She was standing pensively by a rosebush the next morning feelingappallingly weary of well-doing when Kurt in his riding clothes suddenlyappeared before her.
"Would you like to ride this morning?" he asked. "Work is slack justnow."
With a rush of joy she got into her boyish looking outfit and mounted thehorse he had chosen for her, a thoroughbred animal but one far differentfrom those she had tried out on field day. She was very careful not to tryto outride the foreman, or to perform any of her marvels of horsemanship.They had a long exhilarating ride over the foothills, and she felt theblood leaping again in her arteries at the turning from the comfortablechannels of house life into the lure of the open.
"I was never meant for indoors," she thought. "I think I can stand it uphere a while longer if he'll give me more of this exercise."
That night as they sat in the library alone, he lost his habitualreticence and talked--through her guidance--of himself and his life.
"Does it satisfy you always," she asked. "Wouldn't you like the power ofruling fates and fortunes in a city way?"
"No;" he replied, almost fiercely. "When a man has circled the herd andrisen in his stirrups to throw a lariat and watched through the night bythe light of camp fires, nothing else calls to him quite the same way. Icouldn't endure to live a bottled up life--the life of cities. Men of mykind are branded; they may wander, but they always come back. After youonce get on intimate terms with the mountain and the blue overhead, otherthings don't satisfy."
She drew him into further conversation regarding his former life,responding briefly but with an undercurrent of interest that put him ongood terms with himself.
In the days that followed, these rides became frequent, and despite thefact that they seldom spoke, they unconsciously grew into a closeness ofcompanionship which saved her from the ennui of unwonted domesticenvironment. The intense vitality of the young foreman attracted her, andshe began to have a friendly sympathy for him, and even to feel a tranquilsatisfaction in his reposeful silence. At times she was sorely tempted toshow him the same little impish self she had portrayed on their first rideup the trail, and sometimes her conscience would sting her that she hadfailed to confide in him as Mrs. Kingdon had advised, but his gray eyeslooked out so very straight and with such calm kindliness--the gaze of aman who has lived the simple life in the open--and with so little affinityto the eyes of the world-wise, that she found herself incapable ofcarrying out her intentions.
One night when the men had arranged to have another dance, Pen paidunusual attention to her dress. She came downstairs, a slight littlefigure in a soft, flower-sprigged, old-fashioned muslin (designedoriginally for bedroom windows and donated by Mrs. Kingdon), her hairsoftly brought to the crown of her head, with little curling rings abouther brow. A freshness like the first faint fragrance of young springseemed to hover about her. Kurt surveyed her with a look akin toadoration. Then his eyes dropped.
"Don't dance with the boys to-night," he said abruptly.
"I must play the _ingenue_ part for which I am costumed," she thought.
"Mrs. Kingdon told me," she said gently, "that the boys had so fewopportunities for partners, I must divide my dances equally."
"There's a party of tourists--teachers--at Westcott's. I've asked themover. The boys can dance with them."
"Well," she assented graciously, "I'll just dance with Betty and Francisand Billy--"
"And me," he finished.
"Thank you. I didn't know that you danced."
In the dance hall she looked eagerly about, hoping that Jo might have beeninvited, but she was disappointed.
"I am not dancing," she thought, when Kurt was guiding her over the floor."I am just being deliciously carried about. It's very restful, but notexhilarating. Oh, Jo, where art thou? It was like drinking champagne todance with you, but I suppose continuous champagne is bad for one."
Later that night when she was taking off her dancing slippers her thoughtswere still of the man with whom she had danced so many times.
"He's kind and good and strong--a suppressed strength. He lookspassion-proof; but if he ever falls in love! And what a triumph for athief to capture an adamantine heart! But I don't want that kind--nor anykind."
Down in the bunkhouse, Kurt was recalling the feel of her little hand thathad left a trail like fire upon his arm and had filled him with asensation of ecstasy. A new divine sweetness seemed born into the air. Helooked out of his window up into a star-flecked sky and renewed his oldvow of allegiance to The Woman.