Читать книгу The Merriweather Girls in Quest of Treasure - Edholm Lizette M. - Страница 5

As Matt Larkin brought his car to a stop, the traveller greeted them as if he were an old acquaintance and had made an appointment for them to meet him at this very spot in the desert and had been waiting and expecting them to come along. He took it as a matter of course that he would be invited to ride and the moment the door of the car was opened he scrambled in with quick, nervous movements.

He was a thin faced little man, stoop shouldered as if he had spent his life bent over books, but there was a charm in his twinkling eyes that made friends at once for him, no matter what society he entered. He was equally at home with people of wealth as he was with the poorest of his friends.

So eager was the old man to be seated, out of the scorching rays of the sun, that he left his bundle lying at the side of the road.

"Your pack!" called Kit, as Matt was about to start the car. "You've forgotten your pack!"

The man gave her a grateful smile. "That's just like me to leave it.

Alicia said I was sure to do just that," he laughed nervously.

He jumped out of the car and quickly recovered his property. "Don't know what I would have done if I'd lost it – all my sustenance and books."

"Listen to the old chap," whispered Joy in Shirley's ear. "He's a regular highbrow. Hear him talk! 'Sustenance', what does that mean?"

"Why, his food, of course," replied Shirley with a laugh.

"Then why didn't he say so? Isn't the word 'food' polite enough for him?" giggled Joy.

"I wonder who he is?" Kit was puzzled by the man. He did not belong to the desert, of that she was sure.

As if in answer to her thought, the stranger announced: "I am Anton Gillette of Dorsey College. I'm on an exploring expedition."

"A professor!" gasped Joy in a low voice. "He'll spoil all our fun. We'll have to pretend we're clever or something of the sort." This was whispered in Bet's ear and brought forth a laugh.

"Be yourself, Joy! Don't try to be clever. It might strain you." Bet leaned forward eagerly and addressed the old man. "An exploring expedition! How interesting that sounds. What are you going to explore? And where?"

"Are you going to find a buried city?" asked Enid excitedly.

"Hardly a buried city in this country," he returned.

"But why? When there were seven cities of Troy and maybe more, why can't it be possible that there is one buried city here?"

"And maybe we could find a King Tut grave," suggested Shirley.

"That's an idea," said Bet, and the girls joined in the laugh, but the professor was serious.

"I don't mind telling you that it is something of that sort that I am after. I want to find the ruins of an old Indian village and find the grave of a certain old chief. How did you guess it?"

"We didn't," laughed Kit. "We were just hoping it might be so."

"This old chief was supposed to have been buried with many historical objects of the tribe, and it is his grave that I must find. It is all very interesting – very," nodded the professor.

"There are Indian mounds all over Arizona," said Kit. "I don't see how you will ever find the right one."

"I have a clue. It may be only an old legend without any foundation of truth in it, but I don't think so. It was at the scene of an Indian massacre. A common enough story it is. The white men encroaching on the Indian lands," began Professor Gillette but Kit interrupted.

"There are thousands of legends like that. They are like the cactus, they grow everywhere in Arizona."

But the old professor was not to be discouraged so easily. "The Indians killed some white men and then soldiers came and there was a massacre – mostly whites."

"There's nothing unusual about that story, Professor Gillette."

"True. But in this case a princess, the daughter of a chief, cursed her own people for their cruelty. And within a year the tribe at that village died out. Every man of them."

"Why that's the legend of Lost Canyon!" exclaimed Kit excitedly. "And does this princess come back and haunt the canyon, does she appear when anything crooked is being done around that section?"

"Yes, yes, that's the story. Lost Canyon, do you know where Lost Canyon is?" asked the old man with trembling eagerness.

"Lost Canyon was my playground since babyhood. It's like my front yard. I love it!"

"How wonderful! Then maybe you know this man." He fumbled in his pockets, taking out the contents of all of them, before he found the letter which he handed to Kit. "This is an introduction to a man who may be very useful to me."

Kit laughed happily as she read the name on the envelope. "Mr. William Patten." Returning the paper to the professor she said, "I should know that man well. He's my father!"

"Oh isn't that jolly, Kit!" cried Joy. "Imagine meeting someone who is on the way to see your father! That's a bit of luck, isn't it?"

"Dad will be very glad to help you," continued Kit.

"What a strange coincidence!" remarked the professor glowing with pleasure. His boyish smile offset the formal style that might have bothered the girls. His dark eyes were small and twinkling and he was so very nearsighted that it was necessary for him to look intently in order to see anything.

At that moment a loud report startled them. Joy gave a scream of fright. "What is it?" she cried excitedly. "Indians!"

"Shooting?" exclaimed the professor, half rising in his seat. "Is it a hold up?" He looked around in all directions. But the desert seemed devoid of human life.

"It means that we've blown out a tire," smiled Matt as he brought the car to a stop at the side of the road and got out muttering, "Of all the ding-busted places to get a flat! Not even a spear of grass for shade and no water hole nearer than Coyote Creek and that's ten miles away." Matt puffed as he unstrapped the spare tire and prepared to jack up the wheel.

The girls stood around, anxious to make themselves useful, but Matt paid no attention to their offers of help. He even scowled at Professor Gillette, and went on without answering him. Matt's face was red with the effort under the burning sun that scorched the flesh with its blistering rays. It seemed impossible that life could exist in that burned-out sandy waste.

Bet Baxter had not spoken. She was tremendously interested in the things she saw around her. Suddenly she gave an exclamation of surprise as her foot touched what appeared at first to be a light-colored stone, and saw it move.

"What under the sun is this?" she cried as she stooped over the now motionless little creature.

"Oh, that's a horn toad, it won't bother you," laughed Kit. "You'll see plenty of them around."

"Isn't it pretty!" Bet picked up the little creature between her thumb and forefinger gingerly. "Just look at its funny little tail! I never knew a toad had a tail."

"And look at the thorns all over its body. Isn't it funny?" Enid poked her finger at the toad, prodding it in the sides.

The toad was motionless now as if dead, only an occasional blinking of the eyes showed that it had life.

"If it isn't poisonous, I'd like to take it along for a pet." Bet turned toward the car.

"Oh, leave it where it is, Bet. Maybe it wouldn't want to be parted from its family," said Shirley in her quiet way.

Kit burst into a peal of laughter. "That's what I call considerate. Its mother mightn't like to have it go out for a ride in an auto with strange people."

Bet paid no attention to Kit's nonsense. She was fascinated by this strange creature, covered with horn-like spines.

But at that moment Matt's voice rang out: "Let's go! And here's hoping we'll have no more tire trouble before we reach the ranch."

Bet turned to put down the horn toad, then exclaimed excitedly: "Look, Kit, what kind of a bird is that?"

"That's just a road runner. You'll see plenty of them before the summer is over."

"What a funny name for a bird!" answered Bet.

"You can call it a Chapparal Cock, if that suits your fancy," laughed Matt Larkin.

"I'll do it!" Bet said with a toss of her head. "That name sounds very stylish. And it suits it much better. Look at its lovely blue crest, and its bronze-green body!" The girls gave a little gasp as the large bird, evidently startled by the engine, went off on a run that looked ridiculous in a bird. Aided by its large wings, it made rapid progress.

"I like that bird!" cried Joy with enthusiasm. "I believe it could be taught to dance."

"You can have the job of teaching it," remarked Shirley Williams with a shiver. "I wouldn't want to get a nip from that long bill."

"If you want to know what that bill can do, just get the opinion of the rattlesnakes and lizards around here. Those birds are the worst enemies the snakes have. They certainly fade away when Mr. Road Runner is out for a walk. And by the way, Bet, this bird has a third name, it's 'Snake killer'."

But Matt was calling impatiently and the girls finally left their observations of desert life and took their seats in the car.

For a few miles Matt sent the machine ahead at a rate which troubled the girls but finally his impatience wore away and he slowed down to his ordinary careful driving.

Kit nodded approval and whispered to Bet: "Matt forgot he was driving a car; he thought he was riding a bronc."

"I am greatly relieved," said the professor quietly. "Speed is the curse of the age. We should take lessons from the Indians."

"That's all you know about Injins, Injins ain't so slow as you might think. I've seen 'em with plenty of ginger in 'em. They're only slow when there's work to be done." Matt Larkin had made the longest speech that Kit had ever heard from him at one time. He was not a talkative man, and rarely addressed anyone.

But that did not shake the professor in his conviction that Indians had led a quiet, placid existence and should be an example.

"Yes, we have much to learn from the red man," he continued just as if Matt had not spoken. And if he heard the contemptuous snort from the driver, he did not let on.

Mile after mile slid by quickly and soon the walls of the ranch house were visible.

"There it is!" cried Kit, hardly able to sit still. "We're almost home!"

"At long last!" Joy burst out impatiently. "I had almost given up expecting it. It's been ages since we left the station."

"But wasn't every minute of it perfect!" Enid Breckenridge was enjoying the feeling of ownership in the land. Part of this strange country was hers, her home. "Didn't you enjoy it all?"

"No, I didn't," Joy answered. "I got so tired of those tall smoke-stack cactus things that I wanted to scream." She pointed her hand at the towering pillars of the suhuaro, or giant cactus. "And I hope I'll never have to see a cow again. They're everywhere! Only one thing I dislike more, that's cactus."

"Why, Joy Evans, I think they are the most romantic looking objects I've ever seen. They're wonderful!" exclaimed Bet.

"And as for me, I've taken pictures every time Matt has slowed down enough. That shows what I think of them. I'm enthused over everything! I've taken six pictures of cattle." Shirley, the quiet one, rarely spoke so whole-heartedly over things. She appreciated but seldom expressed her emotions.

Bet had half risen in the auto and craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the ranch buildings, but all they could see for the moment was the high wall of sun-dried bricks.

"What's the idea of that wall about a ranch?" she asked. In spite of Bet's lively imagination, she always wanted a reason for everything she saw. "They don't have Indian raids any more, do they?" Bet's tone indicated that she almost wished they did.

"Oh, I hope not!" cried Joy. "Those fierce-looking Indians that we saw racing toward the station didn't look exactly peaceful. I'm sure I don't feel so very safe."

"Don't worry, girls, the Indians are tame enough now. But the walls date back to the time when they weren't," Kit explained. "When that wall was built the settlers needed it badly."

"Isn't it romantic!" Bet thrilled as she looked at the old adobe wall fully ten feet high with small porthole openings at intervals. "And there are the tiny windows they used to shoot through at the Indians. I'd love to have seen it."

"Oh, Bet, you make me ashamed of you! And you know well enough you wouldn't have wanted to see an Indian raid," sniffed Joy contemptuously. "You're just trying to appear brave and wild."

But there was a look in Bet's eyes that confirmed her remarks. She longed for adventure, wild fighting and glorious deeds of valor. If she had been born earlier and been a boy she would have chosen the life of a soldier or a pirate. Of that she was very sure.

"And down back of that wall is the canyon, where the Indians hid and then rushed the ranch before the people inside knew they were there. The old Indian trail runs off over the mountain on the other side of the canyon," Kit informed her friends.

"Think of having to live out here in those days when there was so much danger! I'm glad I didn't have to," Enid sighed. The memory of her own isolated existence on Campers' Trail through that hard winter was still too fresh in her memory. She did not often mention the unpleasantness of her life. Most of it was too bitter.

Eagerly the girls watched for the first sight of the ranch house, but it was not until the car reached the wide gateway that they were able to glimpse it. It stood far back toward the edge of the cliff and was so completely surrounded by trees that it was impossible to tell just what kind of a house it was. If it had not been for a few windows it might have been taken for part of the old wall. There was no attempt at ornament, in that adobe structure. The front was bare and without imagination. The door was in the center with a stone walk leading to it.

Bet especially felt disappointed. She had planned on a Spanish castle or something equally imposing. A romantic setting for Enid, a gorgeous frame that would bring out all the loveliness of her friend.

Everything was quiet. There was no sign of life.

Matt brought the car to a stand-still, and jumping out, opened the doors. The girls dismounted and stood there hardly knowing what to do.

Then a Chinese boy opened the door of the house and Bet caught a glimpse beyond him of a great patio, or interior court, full of tropical plants like a hot house.

Here at last was a spot romantic enough to suit her taste. Bet clung to Kit's arm as they went along the stone walk to the door.

"It's perfect, Kit, it's perfect!" she gasped.