Читать книгу Two Girls in the Wild - Mabel Winifred Knowles - Страница 5

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Prisoners! And it hadn’t even been possible to fight.

Red Tam had seized Pansy’s wrists whilst his comrade grabbed at Pearl’s. What would happen to them? Both men had game which they had laid against the tree trunk. Their fierce faces stared into those of the frightened girls whilst they poured out a volley of curses and inquiries in very broad Scottish dialect.

Both Pansy and Pearl felt their end had come. Wild tales of the rustlers of Skeleton Range vividly forced themselves on their memories.

And these must be a sort of rustler.

The poachers meantime were highly disgusted to find they had been deliberately scared from a good night’s work by a couple of reckless lassies who seemed to be roaming the moors without the least intention of spying. Red Tam considered the chance of recalling the vanished comrades, and was in haste to be finished with his captives and return to sport.

“Hae ye a cord, Jamie?” he asked his one companion, and, with some skill, they tied both girls back against the half-rotted trunks of the little trees. Then, snatching up their guns, away they went—scared by other sounds from the woods, which told of searchers. They had intended to gag these Paul Prys, but had not time. At first neither of the prisoners felt like screaming. It would only be bringing back more enemies! So they stood quaking.

Pearl was the first to speak, and her tones were comical.

“I never thought Scotland had this sort of adventure,” said she.

“No, neither did I,” replied Pansy, “or I think I should have stayed in bed.”

Pearl reflected.

“I don’t know. Kirstie and half a kipper would be worse than tame rustlers. They were almost tame, weren’t they?”

“I think they heard a whistle in the wood,” said Pansy. “Shall we shout and say we are here?”

Pearl tilted back her fair head. She had recovered from her scare and rather enjoyed the situation. To be tied to an alder tree on a lonesome moor by moonlight would be fine—if she were safely released and made a heroine of shortly.

“Whoopee! Whoopee!” rang out the two young voices. It was the last sort of hail which Sir Oswald’s head keeper, Clarkson, had expected to hear, but it brought him and two of his mates to the edge of the wood.

“Hy—ar!” called Pansy. “We—are—prisoners!”

It was just as well she cried out at once, for already one of Clarkson’s companions had taken to his heels, believing he saw ghosts.

Clarkson and his companion, Duncan, came cautiously forward, suspecting a trap. They were out in force to-night against Red Tam and his confederates.

The astonishment of both men was great when they discovered two flesh and blood maidens corded to the old trees.

It was good to be free, but Pearl had a disappointment if she expected to be looked on as a heroine. Sam Clarkson happened to be courting Grizel at the Grange, and had heard all about the wild Americans. So he surveyed the heroines very glumly.

Pansy gave a breathless description of their adventure. Pearl interrupted.

“We scared the rustlers,” she said; “they were raiding the wood. They had guns, too.”

Clarkson glowered.

“I dinna ken about rustlers,” said he, “but it’s a fine bag we’d hae made o’ the worst gang o’ poachers in the place if it hadna been for you skeerin’ them off.”

Here was gratitude! Pearl tilted her nose in disdain, whilst Pansy drew back.

“We couldn’t stop the men,” she replied; “but anyhow we’re glad you cut the rope. Come, Pearl.”

But Clarkson knew his duty.

“It’s no’ the thing for young lassies to be roamin’ the moors,” he lectured. “Ye’ll be comin’ back to the Grange. It’s verra sure ye come from wild parts to play tricks o’ this kind.”

“We are not going back to the Grange,” protested Pearl, but she changed her mind when without warning Pansy reeled back against the alder tree. How white she looked! Pansy had never fainted in her life, but she was fairly near it now. The excitement, scare, and sense of responsibility had quite bowled her over, and she even consented to being given a “wee drap” from Clarkson’s flask.

Ugh! Horrible! The most horrible stuff she had ever tasted, but it did take the woolly feeling away from her legs and help her to walk back that long, weary way to the Grange.

For Pearl, scared by her sister’s illness, gave no more thought to running away. They would have to go back to Cousin Janet’s and take the very next chance of escaping.

Dawn had broken before they came in sight of the Grange, and Mattie, the little help who came to scrub before going to school, was busy at the door-step. Poor Mattie had panic at sight of such a procession, and fled, hearthstone in hand, to search for Jean.

Both Jean and Grizel were soon on the scene, whilst from upstairs came the sound of Cousin Janet’s opening door and shrill inquiries as to what was the matter.

The truants felt horribly small as Clarkson gave a graphic description of their escapade, which he did not make sound at all heroic. When the men had gone, Grizel went up to her mistress, whilst Jean and Mattie busied about to get hot tea and slices of cake for the tired girls.

Jean was a real sympathizer, but she did not help to raise her listeners’ spirits as she gave graphic stories of the wicked ways of poachers.

“They might ha’ murdered you and a’, ’deed they might,” she said. “And ye look more like a ghaist now, Miss Pansy. Ah, here’s Grizel. I ken by her stumpin’ she’s in an ill mood.”

Grizel was certainly not in a good temper. Her mistress had blamed her for not taking the keys of the various doors out of the locks as she was supposed to do, and Grizel had answered back. That meant Miss Dangeldie’s displeasure would be shown for days, and Grizel meant to vent her spleen on the young leddies.

“Though leddies ye’re not,” said the woman, after scolding the limp disturbers of the household. “And who told you, Jean, to be givin’ the mistress’s new cake away out o’ meal-time. Come awa’, lassies. It’s to your room I’ll be seein’ you, and out o’ further mischief.”

Pansy and Pearl were too tired to protest. They were sleepy as little cats, wet with night dews, stiff after tight cording, and distressed in mind. It hardly worried them to hear the key turned in the lock on the outside as they tumbled on to their beds.

It must have been hours later when they woke up, for the afternoon sun was peeping into the room, and on the table near stood a jug of water and half a loaf of dry bread.

Cousin Janet was very old-fashioned in her ideas of punishment. On the tray was a note, which Pansy read aloud whilst Pearl cut the bread.

“You naughty, ungrateful girls. My patience is at an end. You will remain locked in your room till Friday, when a conveyance will take you to Miss Trimburn’s residence.

“Janet Dangeldie.”

“She’s as mad as a wet hen, sure,” said Pearl placidly; “but I’m glad we’ve got bread. It’s good bread, too. What shall we do, Pansy? Take our bundles, climb down from the window—and escape?”

Pansy re-read the letter.

“She’s sure an old cat,” said she. “Yes, Pearl, I’m not going to stay here two whole days. And she has no right to lock us up. We don’t belong to her! Let us see if we could climb.”

Pearl pushed open the casement.

“It isn’t easy,” said she; “but we could. And shall we go to Three Stacks Farm?”

“Yes—oh, look, Pearl! Listen! Sh—sh—sh. There’s someone outside the door, pushing a letter in.”

Down on her knees flopped Pansy. A thrilling whisper came through the key-hole. Jean was speaking.

“Missies! They don’t ken the letter’s here, but I ken ye’ve been looking for it, an’ mebbee they wouldn’t let ye have it. It’s foreign!”

“Dear Jean, you’re a treasure,” said Pansy, kissing the door panel in her delight; “it’s the Californian letter. You darling. And——”

“Andy’ll be in the garden, Missies. If ye could let doon a bag, we’ll fill it wi’ scones and the like.”

“Angel!” chuckled Pearl; “but the letter—oh, the letter!”

A scolding voice on the staircase told that the faithful Jean had been caught. But at this moment Pansy and Pearl were too excited to be thinking of Jean.

The letter—oh, the letter, which had come from home. Pansy tore the envelope all to bits before she could get it open, and Pearl’s heart sank as she saw how brief was the scrawl.

It wasn’t the sort of writing one could read all in a minute, and two heads were pressed close together as the sisters slowly deciphered the ill-formed letters.

“Dear Kids,

“Pete says yoo may com. I’m just delighted. Com right now. If we know wen, Wearing can meet yoo at the stashun. I’m no scholar, but my heart’s in it sure when I say—com.

Lizzie Quant.”

“Hurrah!” shouted Pearl, waving her arms like a whirlwind, “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah for Lone View Ranch! and as much riding as we want. Oh, Pansy, won’t we just be the two best hired-girls in America? Cow-girls, may be. That’s what I want. Hurrah! No Kirstie and kipper, no more flusters and scolding. We’re free!”

Pansy sat and laughed. Pearl’s capers fairly shook the room, and she was not at all surprised when the door was opened and Cousin Janet bounced in.

“How dare you try to break the ceiling in the sitting-room,” she began; but to her amaze Pansy flung both arms about her neck.

“We can say good-bye to-morrow, Cousin Janet,” she said, “so don’t be angry any more. We’re going back! We’re going back! We’re going back to sunny Cal. Oh, it’s great! It’s fine! But don’t be angry, as we’ll be going. Can’t you—can’t you say you ain’t too sorry we came?”

Cousin Janet collapsed. Something in Pansy’s appeal and the easy guess of what prompted it touched the narrow old maid’s heart.

She had failed to welcome these orphan lassies who had come so trustingly to a home. Now they were going away—going back—because their home country had no welcome for them.

“I’m sure you could have been very happy here,” she said. “And—and I’ve made all arrangements. Miss Trimburn is expecting you—and your passage will cost far more than can be afforded. There is money, but it is invested, and——”

It was no use talking. She had said she wished those wild American girls had never come to Scotland. Now they were going.

Yes, in spite of Lawyer Trimburn’s frowns and pursed lips, in spite of Cousin Janet’s suggestion that they might try Miss Kirstie’s for a month.

Pansy and Pearl were firm. They were going back. And—they went.

It was the most joyous going—so much more so than their coming. The only two people who really seemed to regret their leaving were Jean and Andy. Jean—without orders—made them a pile of real Scotch shortbread to eat on their journey, whilst Andy, having avoided Gregory’s eye, was at the station to see them off.

Poor Andy, he looked quite sad, and brought out a clasp knife which he pressed into Pansy’s hand.

“It’s ma best,” he explained shyly. “I’m sorry I havna one for the ither lassie. But you’ll think o’ me when ye’re usin’ it, an’ if there’s room for a handy boy on the ranch out there, Missie, I’d be verra glad to take the job.” He sighed. “I’d gie the worrld,” he burst out in conclusion, “to be goin’ too.”

Pansy patted his shoulder.

“And indeed, Andy,” she promised, “we won’t forget. I’ll write.”

And the promise—coming from Pansy—left Andy broadly smiling as he stood on the platform of the tiny station, waving his cap in farewell to the girls who had found that corner of bonnie Scotland so much too “smothercating”.

But it was Pearl who, leaning from the window, waved her hand towards the wide stretching slopes.

“Good-bye, moor-prairie,” she cried shrilly. “One day, perhaps, we’ll come back to you—but never, no! never to Kelsie Grange. Hurrah for Lone View Ranch—and the Wild West!”

Pansy clasped her hands.

“I think—I really do think,” said she, “Dad would have told us to go back. Nobody wanted us in the Old Country, no one at all.”

“Excepting Andy,” said Pearl. “I guess one day he’ll be a fine sort of cowboy—and oh, I’m aching for a ride across the prairie. Just think, Pansy, what you would be feeling if we were on the way to Miss Kirstie—and her kippers?”

But Pansy had other things to think of.