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Title: Aunt Jane's Nieces and Uncle John

Author: Edith Van Dyne

Release Date: November 18, 2003  [eBook #10124]

Language: English

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AUNT JANE'S NIECES AND UNCLE JOHN

BY

EDITH VAN DYNE

AUTHOR OF "AUNT JANE'S NIECES," "AUNT JANE'S NIECES ABROAD," "AUNT
JANE'S NIECES AT MILLVILLE," "AUNT JANE'S NIECES AT WORK." "AUNT
JANE'S NIECES IN SOCIETY," ETC.

1911







CONTENTS


CHAPTER

  I     INTRODUCING "MUMBLES"
  II    UNCLE JOHN'S IDEA
  III   MYRTLE DEAN
  IV    AN INTERESTING PROTÉGÉ
  V     A WONDER ON WHEELS
  VI    WAMPUS SPEEDS
  VII   THE CHAUFFEUR IMPROVES
  VIII  AMONG THE INDIANS
  IX    NATURE'S MASTERPIECE
  X     A COYOTE SERENADE
  XI    A REAL ADVENTURE AT LAST
  XII   CAPTURED
  XIII  THE FIDDLER
  XIV   THE ESCAPE
  XV    THE ROMANCE OF DAN'L
  XVI   THE LODGING AT SPOTVILLE
  XVII  YELLOW POPPIES
  XVIII THE SILENT MAN
  XIX   "THREE TIMES"
  XX    ON POINT LOMA
  XXI   A TALE OF WOE
  XXII  THE CONFESSION





CHAPTER I

INTRODUCING "MUMBLES"


Major Gregory Doyle paced nervously up and down the floor of the cosy
sitting room.

"Something's surely happened to our Patsy!" he exclaimed.

A little man with a calm face and a bald head, who was seated near the
fire, continued to read his newspaper and paid no attention to the
outburst.

"Something has happened to Patsy!" repeated the Major, "Patsy" meaning
his own and only daughter Patricia.

"Something is always happening to everyone," said the little man,
turning his paper indifferently. "Something is happening to me, for I
can't find the rest of this article. Something is happening to you,
for you're losing your temper."

"I'm not, sir! I deny it."

"As for Patsy," continued the other, "she is sixteen years old and
knows New York like a book. The girl is safe enough."

"Then where is she? Tell me that, sir. Here it is, seven o'clock, dark
as pitch and raining hard, and Patsy is never out after six. Can you,
John Merrick, sit there like a lump o' putty and do nothing, when your
niece and my own darlin' Patsy is lost--or strayed or stolen?"

"What would you propose doing?" asked Uncle John, looking up with a
smile.

"We ought to get out the police department. It's raining and cold,
and--"

"Then we ought to get out the fire department. Call Mary to put on
more coal and let's have it warm and cheerful when Patsy comes in."

"But, sir--"

"The trouble with you, Major, is that dinner is half an hour late. One
can imagine all sorts of horrible things on an empty stomach. Now,
then--"

He paused, for a pass-key rattled in the hall door and a moment later
Patsy Doyle, rosy and animated, fresh from the cold and wet outside,
smilingly greeted them.

She had an umbrella, but her cloak was dripping with moisture and in
its ample folds was something huddled and bundled up like a baby,
which she carefully protected.

"So, then," exclaimed the Major, coming forward for a kiss, "you're
back at last, safe and sound. Whatever kept ye out 'til this time o'
night, Patsy darlin'?" he added, letting the brogue creep into his
tone, as he did when stirred by any emotion.

Uncle John started to take off her wet cloak.

"Look out!" cried Patsy; "you'll disturb Mumbles."

The two men looked at her bundle curiously.

"Who's Mumbles?" asked one.

"What on earth is Mumbles?" inquired the other.

The bundle squirmed and wriggled. Patsy sat down on the floor and
carefully unwound the folds of the cloak. A tiny dog, black and
shaggy, put his head out, blinked sleepily at the lights, pulled his
fat, shapeless body away from the bandages and trotted solemnly over
to the fireplace. He didn't travel straight ahead, as dogs ought to
walk, but "cornerwise," as Patsy described it; and when he got to the
hearth he rolled himself into a ball, lay down and went to sleep.

During this performance a tense silence had pervaded the room. The
Major looked at the dog rather gloomily; Uncle John with critical eyes
that held a smile in them; Patsy with ecstatic delight.

"Isn't he a dear!" she exclaimed.

"It occurs to me," said the Major stiffly, "that this needs an
explanation. Do you mean to say, Patsy Doyle, that you've worried the
hearts out of us this past hour, and kept the dinner waiting, all
because of a scurvy bit of an animal?"

"Pshaw!" said Uncle John. "Speak for yourself, Major. I wasn't worried
a bit."

"You see," explained Patsy, rising to take off her things and put them
away, "I was coming home early when I first met Mumbles. A little boy
had him, with a string tied around his neck, and when Mumbles tried
to run up to me the boy jerked him back cruelly--and afterward kicked
him. That made me mad."

"Of course," said Uncle John, nodding wisely.

"I cuffed the boy, and he said he'd take it out on Mumbles, as soon as
I'd gone away. I didn't like that. I offered to buy the dog, but the
boy didn't dare sell him. He said it belonged to his father, who'd
kill him and kick up a row besides if he didn't bring Mumbles home.
So I found out where they lived and as it wasn't far away I went home
with him."

"Crazy Patsy!" smiled Uncle John.

"And the dinner waiting!" groaned the Major, reproachfully.

"Well, I had a time, you can believe!" continued Patsy, with
animation. "The man was a big brute, and half drunk. He grabbed up the
little doggie and threw it into a box, and then told me to go home and
mind my business."

"Which of course you refused to do."

"Of course. I'd made up my mind to have that dog."

"Dogs," said the Major, "invariably are nuisances."

"Not invariably," declared Patsy. "Mumbles is different. Mumbles is a
good doggie, and wise and knowing, although he's only a baby dog yet.
And I just couldn't leave him to be cuffed and kicked and thrown
around by those brutes. When the man found I was determined to have
Mumbles he demanded twenty-five dollars."

"Twenty-five dollars!" It startled Uncle John.

"For that bit of rags and meat?" asked the Major, looking at the puppy
with disfavor. "Twenty-five cents would be exorbitant."

"The man misjudged me," observed Patsy, with a merry laugh that
matched her twinkling blue eyes. "In the end he got just two
dollars for Mumbles, and when I came away he bade me good-bye very
respectfully. The boy howled. He hasn't any dog to kick and is
broken-hearted. As for Mumbles, he's going to lead a respectable life
and be treated like a dog."

"Do you mean to keep him?" inquired the Major.

"Why not?" said Patsy. "Don't you like him, Daddy?"

Her father turned Mumbles over with his toe. The puppy lay upon its
back, lazily, with all four paws in the air, and cast a comical glance
from one beady bright eye at the man who had disturbed him.

The Major sighed.

"He can't hunt, Patsy; he's not even a mouser."

"We haven't a mouse in the house."

"He's neither useful nor ornamental. From the looks o' the beast he's
only good to sleep and eat."

"What's the odds?" laughed Patsy, coddling Mumbles up in her arms.
"We don't expect use or ornamentation from Mumbles. All we ask is his
companionship."

Mary called them to dinner just then, and the girl hurried to her room
to make a hasty toilet while the men sat down at the table and eyed
their soup reflectively.

"This addition to the family," remarked Uncle John, "need not make
you at all unhappy, my dear Major. Don't get jealous of Mumbles, for
heaven's sake, for the little brute may add a bit to Patsy's bliss."

"It's the first time I've ever allowed a dog in the house."

"You are not running this present establishment. It belongs
exclusively to Patsy."

"I've always hated the sight of a woman coddling a dog," added the
Major, frowning.

"I know. I feel the same way myself. But it isn't the dog's fault.
It's the woman's. And Patsy won't make a fool of herself over that
frowsy puppy, I assure you. On the contrary, she's likely to get a lot
of joy out of her new plaything, and if you really want to make her
happy, Major, don't discourage this new whim, absurd as it seems. Let
Patsy alone. And let Mumbles alone."

The girl came in just then, bringing sunshine with her. Patsy Doyle
was not very big for her years, and some people unkindly described her
form as "chubby." She had glorious red hair--really-truly red--and her
blue eyes were the merriest, sweetest eyes any girl could possess. You
seldom noticed her freckles, her saucy chin or her turned-up nose; you
only saw the laughing eyes and crown of golden red, and seeing them
you liked Patsy Doyle at once and imagined she was very good to look
at, if not strictly beautiful. No one had friends more loyal,
and these two old men--the stately Major and round little Uncle
John--fairly worshiped Patsy.

No one might suspect, from the simple life of this household, which
occupied the second corner flat at 3708 Willing Square, that Miss
Doyle was an heiress. Not only that, but perhaps one of the very
richest girls in New York. And the reason is readily explained when
I state the fact that Patsy's Uncle John Merrick, the round little
bald-headed man who sat contentedly eating his soup, was a man of many
millions, and this girl his favorite niece. An old bachelor who had
acquired an immense fortune in the far Northwest, Mr. Merrick had
lately retired from active business and come East to seek any
relatives that might remain to him after forty years' absence. His
sister Jane had gathered around her three nieces--Louise Merrick,
Elizabeth De Graf and Patricia Doyle--and when Aunt Jane died Uncle
John adopted these three girls and made their happiness the one care
of his jolly, unselfish life. At that time Major Doyle, Patsy's only
surviving parent, was a poor bookkeeper; but Uncle John gave him
charge of his vast property interests, and loving Patsy almost as
devotedly as did her father, made his home with the Doyles and began
to enjoy himself for the first time in his life.

At the period when this story opens the eldest niece, Louise Merrick,
had just been married to Arthur Weldon, a prosperous young business
man, and the remaining two nieces, as well as Uncle John, were feeling
rather lonely and depressed. The bride had been gone on her honeymoon
three days, and during the last two days it had rained persistently;
so, until Patsy came home from a visit to Beth and brought the tiny
dog with her, the two old gentlemen had been feeling dreary enough.

Patsy always livened things up. Nothing could really depress this
spirited girl for long, and she was always doing some interesting
thing to create a little excitement.

"If she hadn't bought a twenty-five cent pup for two dollars,"
remarked the Major, "she might have brought home an orphan from the
gutters, or a litter of tomcats, or one of the goats that eat the
tin cans at Harlem. Perhaps, after all, we should be thankful it's
only--what's his name?"

"Mumbles," said Patsy, merrily. "The boy said they called him that
because he mumbled in his sleep. Listen!"

Indeed, the small waif by the fire was emitting a series of noises
that seemed a queer mixture of low growls and whines--evidence
unimpeachable that he had been correctly named.

At Patsy's shout of laughter, supplemented by Uncle John's chuckles
and a reproachful cough from the Major, Mumbles awakened and lifted
his head. It may be an eye discovered the dining-table in the next
room, or an intuitive sense of smell directed him, for presently the
small animal came trotting in--still traveling "cornerwise"--and sat
up on his hind legs just beside Patsy's chair.

"That settles it," said the Major, as his daughter began feeding the
dog. "Our happy home is broken up."

"Perhaps not," suggested Uncle John, reaching out to pat the soft head
of Mumbles. "It may be the little beggar will liven us all up a bit."




CHAPTER II

UNCLE JOHN'S IDEA


Two hours later Uncle John, who had been dozing in his big chair by
the fire while Patsy drummed on the piano, sat up abruptly and looked
around him with a suddenly acquired air of decision.

"I have an idea," he announced.

"Did you find it in your dreams, then?" asked the Major, sharply.

"Why, Daddy, how cross you are!" cried Patsy. "Can't Uncle John have
an idea if he wants to?"

"I'm afraid of his ideas," admitted the Major, suspiciously. "Every
time he goes to sleep and catches a thought, it means trouble."

Patsy laughed, looking at her uncle curiously, and the little man
smiled at her genially in return.

"It takes me a long time to figure a thing out," he said; "and when
I've a problem to solve a bit of a snooze helps wonderfully. Patsy,
dear, it occurs to me we're lonely."

"We surely are, Uncle!" she exclaimed.

"And in the dumps."

"Our spirits are at the bottom of the bottomless pit."

"So what we need is--a change."

"There it goes!" said the Major ruefully. "I knew very well any idea
of John Merrick's would cause us misery. But understand this, you
miserable home-wrecker, sir, my daughter Patsy steps not one foot out
of New York this winter."

"Why not?" mildly inquired Uncle John.

"Because you've spirited her away from me times enough, and deprived
her only parent of her society. First you gallivanted off to Europe,
and then to Millville, and next to Elmhurst; so now, egad, I'm going
to keep the girl with me if I have to throttle every idea in your
wicked old head!"

"But I'm planning to take you along, this time. Major," observed Uncle
John reflectively.

"Oh. Hum! Well, I can't go. There's too much business to be attended
to--looking after your horrible money."

"Take a vacation. You know I don't care anything about the business.
It can't go very wrong, anyhow. What does it matter if my income isn't
invested properly, or the bond coupons cut when they're due? Drat the
money!"

"That's what I say," added Patsy eagerly. "Be a man, Major Doyle, and
put the business out of your mind. Let's go somewhere and have a good
romp. It will cheer us up."

The Major stared first at one and then at the other.

"What's the programme, John?" he asked stiffly.

"It's going to be a cold winter," remarked the little man, bobbing his
head up and down slowly.

"It is!" cried Patsy, clasping her hands fervently. "I can feel it in
my bones."

"So we're going," said Uncle John, impressively, "to California--where
they grow sunshine and roses to offset our blizzards and icicles."

"Hurray!" shouted Patsy. "I've always wanted to go to California."

"California!" said the Major, amazed; "why, it's farther away than
Europe. It takes a month to get there."

"Nonsense." retorted Uncle John. "It's only four days from coast to
coast. I have a time-table, somewhere," and he began searching in his
pockets.

There was a silence, oppressive on the Major's part, ecstatic as far
as Patsy was concerned. Uncle John found the railway folder, put on
his spectacles, and began to examine it.

"At my time of life," remarked Major Doyle, who was hale and hearty as
a boy, "such a trip is a great undertaking."

"Twenty-four hours to Chicago," muttered Uncle John; "and then three
days to Los Angeles or San Francisco. That's all there is to it."

"Four days and four nights of dreary riding. We'd be dead by that
time," prophesied the Major.

Uncle John looked thoughtful. Then he lay back in his chair and spread
his handkerchief over his face again.

"No, no!" cried the Major, in alarm. "For mercy's sake, John, don't
go to sleep and catch any more of those terrible ideas. No one knows
where the next one might carry us--to Timbuktu or Yucatan, probably.
Let's stick to California and settle the question before your hothouse
brain grows any more weeds."

"Yucatan," remarked Mr. Merrick, composedly, his voice muffled by the
handkerchief, "isn't a bad suggestion."

"I knew it!" wailed the Major. "How would Ethiopia or Hindustan strike
you?"

Patsy laughed at him. She knew something good was in store for her
and like all girls was enraptured at the thought of visiting new and
interesting scenes.

"Don't bother Uncle John, Daddy," she said. "You know very well he
will carry out any whim that seizes him; especially if you oppose the
plan, which you usually do."

"He's the most erratic and irresponsible man that ever lived,"
announced her father, staring moodily at the spread handkerchief which
covered Uncle John's cherub-like features. "New York is good enough
for anybody, even in winter; and now that you're in society, Patsy--"

"Oh, bother society! I hate it."

"True," he agreed; "it's a regular treadmill when it has enslaved one,
and keeps you going on and on without progressing a bit. The object of
society is to tire you out and keep you from indulging in any other
occupation."

"You know nothing about it," observed Patsy, demurely, "and that is
why you love to rail at society. The things you know, Daddy dear, are
the things you never remark upon."

"Huh!" grunted the Major, and relapsed into silence.

Mumbles had finished his after-dinner nap and was now awakening to
activity. This dog's size, according to the Major, was "about 4x6; but
you can't tell which is the 4 and which the 6." He was distressingly
shaggy. Patsy could find the stump of his tail only by careful search.
Seldom were both eyes uncovered by hair at the same time. But, as his
new mistress had said, he was a wise little dog for one who had only
known the world for a few months, and his brain was exceedingly alert.
After yawning at the fire he rubbed his back against the Major's legs,
sat up beside Patsy and looked at her from one eye pleadingly. Next he
trotted over to Uncle John. The big white handkerchief attracted him
and one corner hung down from the edge of the reclining chair. Mumbles
sat up and reached for it, but could not quite get it in his teeth.
So he sat down and thought it over, and presently made a leap so
unexpectedly agile that Patsy roared with merriment and even the Major
grinned. Uncle John, aroused, sat up and found the puppy rolling on
the floor and fighting the handkerchief as if it had been some deadly
foe.

"Thank goodness," sighed the Major. "The little black rascal has
providently prevented you from evolving another idea."

"Not so," responded Mr. Merrick amiably. "I've thought the thing all
out, and completed our programme."

"Is it still to be California?" anxiously inquired Patsy.

"Of course. I can't give up the sunshine and roses, you know. But we
won't bore the Major by four solid days of railway travel. We'll break
the journey, and take two or three weeks to it--perhaps a month."

"Conquering Caesar! A month!" ejaculated the old soldier, a desperate
look on his face.

"Yes. Listen, both of you. We'll get to Chicago in a night and a day.
We will stop off there and visit the stockyards, and collect a few
squeals for souvenirs."

"No, we won't!" declared Patsy, positively.

"We might sell Mumbles to some Chicago sausage factory," remarked the
Major, "but not for two whole dollars. He wouldn't make more than half
a pound at twenty cents the pound."

"There are other sights to be seen in Chicago," continued Uncle John.
"Anyhow, we'll stop off long enough to get rested. Then on to Denver
and Pike's Peak."

"That sounds good," said Patsy.

"At Denver," said Uncle John, "we will take a touring car and cross
the mountains in it. There are good roads all the way from there to
California."

"Who told you so?" demanded the Major.

"No one. It's a logical conclusion, for I've lived in the West and
know the prairie roads are smoother than boulevards. However, Haggerty
told me the other day that he has made the trip from Denver to Los
Angeles by automobile, and what others can do, we can do."

"It will be glorious!" prophesied Patsy, delightedly.

The Major looked grave, but could find no plausible objection to
offer. He really knew nothing about the West and had never had
occasion to consider such a proposition before.

"We'll talk to Haggerty," he said. "But you must remember he's a
desperate liar, John, and can't be trusted as a guidepost. When do you
intend to start?"

"Why not to-morrow?" asked Uncle John mildly.

Even Patsy demurred at this.

"Why, we've got to get ready, Uncle," she said. "And who's going? Just
we three?"

"We will take Beth along, of course." Beth was Elizabeth De Graf,
another niece. "But Beth is fortunately the sort of girl who can pull
up stakes and move on at an hour's notice."

"Beth is always ready for anything," agreed Patsy. "But if we are
going to a warm climate we will need summer clothes."

"You can't lug many clothes in a motor car," observed the Major.

"No; but we can ship them on ahead."

"Haggerty says," remarked Uncle John, "that you won't need thin
clothes until you get out to California. In fact, the mountain trip is
rather cool. But it's perpetual sunshine, you know, even there, with
brisk, keen air; and the whole journey, Haggerty says, is one of
absolute delight."

"Who is Haggerty?" asked Patsy.

"A liar," answered the Major, positively.

"He's a very good fellow whom we sometimes meet in the city," said
Uncle John. "Haggerty is on the Board, and director in a bank or two,
and quite respectable. But the Major--"

"The Major's going to California just to prove that Haggerty can't
speak the truth," observed that gentleman, tersely heading off any
threatened criticism. "I see there is no opposing your preposterous
scheme, John, so we will go with you and make the best of it. But I'm
sure it's all a sad mistake. What else did Haggerty tell you?"

"He says it's best to pick up a motor car and a chauffeur in Denver,
rather than ship them on from here. There are plenty of cars to be
had, and men who know every inch of the road."

"That seems sensible," declared Patsy, "and we won't lose time waiting
for our own car to follow by freight. I think, Uncle John, I can be
ready by next Tuesday."

"Why, to-morrow's Saturday!" gasped the Major. "The business--"

"Cut the business off short," suggested his brother-in-law. "You've to
cut it somewhere, you know, or you'll never get away; and, as it's my
business, I hereby authorize you to neglect it from this moment until
the day of our return. When we get back you can pick up the details
again and worry over it as much as you please."

"Will we ever get back?" asked the Major, doubtingly.

"If we don't, the business won't matter."

"That's the idea," cried Patsy, approvingly. "Daddy has worked hard
all summer, Uncle John, looking after that annoying money of yours,
and a vacation will do him oodles of good."

Major Doyle sighed.

"I misdoubt the wisdom of the trip," said he, "but I'll go, of course,
if you all insist. Over the Rocky Mountains and across the Great
American Desert in an automobile doesn't sound very enticing, but--"

"Haggerty says--"

"Never mind Haggerty. We'll find out for ourselves."

"And, after all," said Patsy, "there are the sunshine and roses at the
end of the journey, and they ought to make up for any amount of bother
in getting there."

"Girl, you're attempting to deceive me--to deceive your old Daddy,"
said the Major, shaking his head at her. "You wouldn't have any fun
riding to California in a palace car; even the sunshine and roses
couldn't excite you under such circumstances; but if there's a chance
for adventure--a chance to slide into trouble and make a mighty
struggle to get out again--both you and that wicked old uncle of yours
will jump at it. I know ye both. And that's the real reason we're
going to travel in an automobile instead of progressing comfortably as
all respectable people do."

"You're a humbug," retorted Mr. Merrick. "You wouldn't go by train if
I'd let you."

"No," admitted the Major; "I must be on hand to rescue you when you
and Patsy go fighting windmills."




CHAPTER III

MYRTLE DEAN


"We were due in Denver three hours ago, and it's an hour's run or more
yet," remarked Beth De Graf, walking briskly up and down the platform
of a way station where the train had stopped for orders.

"And it's beginning to snow," observed Patricia Doyle, beside her.
"I'm afraid this weather isn't very propitious for an automobile
trip."

"Uncle John doesn't worry," said Beth. "He believes there is perpetual
sunshine west of Denver."

"Yes; a man named Haggerty told him. But you'll notice that Daddy
doesn't seem to believe the tale. Anyhow, we shall soon know the
truth, Beth, and the trip is somewhat on the order of a voyage of
discovery, which renders it fascinating to look forward to. There is
such fun in not knowing just what is going to happen next."

"When one travels with Uncle John," returned Beth, smiling, "she
knows exactly--nothing. That is why I am always eager to accept if he
invites me to go anywhere with him."

The passengers thronging the platform--"stretching their legs" after
the confinement of the tedious railway journey--eyed these two girls
admiringly. Beth was admitted a beauty, and one of the society
journals had lately announced that she had few peers in all the great
metropolis. Chestnut brown hair; dark, serious and steady eyes; an
exquisite complexion and rarely regular features all conspired to
render the young girl wonderfully attractive. Her stride was athletic,
free and graceful; her slender form well poised and dignified. Patsy,
the "plug-ugly," as she called herself, was so bright and animated and
her blue eyes sparkled so constantly with fun and good humor, that
she attracted fully as much attention as her more sedate and more
beautiful cousin, and wherever she went was sure to make a host of
friends.

"See!" she cried, clasping Beth's arm; "there is that lovely girl at
the window again. I've noticed her ever since the train left Chicago,
and she is always in the same seat in that tourist coach. I wonder why
she doesn't get out for a bit of fresh air now and then."

Beth looked up at the fair, girlish face that gazed wistfully from
the window. The unknown seemed very young--not more than fourteen or
fifteen years of age. She wore a blue serge suit of rather coarse
weave, but it was neat and becoming. Around the modest, sweet eyes
were deep circles, denoting physical suffering or prolonged worry; yet
the lips smiled, wanly but persistently. She had evidently noticed
Uncle John's two nieces, for her eyes followed them as they marched
up and down the platform and when Patsy looked up and nodded, a soft
flush suffused her features and she bowed her head in return.

At the cry of "all aboard!" a scramble was made for the coaches and
Beth and Patsy, re-entering their staterooms, found their Uncle and
the Major still intent upon their interminable game of cribbage.

"Let's go back and talk to the girl," suggested Patsy. "Somehow,
the poor thing seems lonely, and her smile was more pathetic than
cheerful."

So they made their way through the long train to the tourist coach,
and there found the girl they were seeking. The surrounding seats were
occupied by groups of passengers of rather coarse caliber, many being
foreign laborers accompanied by their wives and children. The air in
the car was close and "stuffy" and the passengers seemed none too neat
in their habits and appearance. So the solitary girl appeared like a
rose blooming in a barnyard and her two visitors were instantly sorry
for her. She sat in her corner, leaning wearily against the back of
the cane seat, with a blanket spread over her lap. Strangely
enough the consideration of her fellow passengers left the girl in
undisturbed possession of a double seat.

"Perhaps she is ill," thought Patsy, as she and Beth sat down opposite
and entered into conversation with the child. She was frankly
communicative and they soon learned that her name was Myrtle Dean, and
that she was an orphan. Although scarcely fifteen years of age she
had for more than two years gained a livelihood by working in a skirt
factory in Chicago, paying her board regularly to a cross old aunt who
was her only relative in the big city. Three months ago, however, she
had met with an accident, having been knocked down by an automobile
while going to her work and seriously injured.

"The doctors say," she confided to her new friends, "that I shall
always be lame, although not quite helpless. Indeed, I can creep
around a little now, when I am obliged to move, and I shall get better
every day. One of my hips was so badly injured that it will never be
quite right again, and my Aunt Martha was dreadfully worried for fear
I would become a tax upon her. I cannot blame her, for she has really
but little money to pay for her own support. So, when the man who ran
over me paid us a hundred dollars for damages--"

"Only a hundred dollars!" cried Beth, amazed.

"Wasn't that enough?" inquired Myrtle innocently.

"By no means," said Patsy, with prompt indignation. "He should have
given you five thousand, at least. Don't you realize, my dear, that
this accident has probably deprived you of the means of earning a
livelihood?"

"I can still sew," returned the girl, courageously, "although of
course I cannot get about easily to search for employment."

"But why did you leave Chicago?" asked Beth.

"I was coming to that part of my story. When I got the hundred dollars
Aunt Martha decided I must use it to go to Leadville, to my Uncle
Anson, who is my mother's only brother. He is a miner out there, and
Aunt Martha says he is quite able to take care of me. So she bought my
ticket and put me on the train and I'm now on my way to Leadville to
find Uncle Anson."

"To _find_ him!" exclaimed Patsy. "Don't you know his address?"

"No; we haven't had a letter from him for two years. But Aunt Martha
says he must be a prominent man, and everybody in Leadville will know
him, as it's a small place."

"Does he know you are coming?" asked Beth, thoughtfully.

"My aunt wrote him a letter two days before I started, so he ought
to receive it two days before I get there," replied Myrtle, a little
uneasily. "Of course I can't help worrying some, because if I failed
to find Uncle Anson I don't know what might happen to me."

"Have you money?" asked Beth.

"A little. About three dollars. Aunt gave me a basket of food to last
until I get to Leadville, and after paying for my ticket and taking
what I owed her for board there wasn't much left from the hundred
dollars."

"What a cruel old woman!" cried Patsy, wrathfully. "She ought to be
horsewhipped!"

"I am sure it was wrong for her to cast you off in this heartless
way," added Beth, more conservatively.

"She is not really bad," returned Myrtle, the tears starting to her
eyes. "But Aunt Martha has grown selfish, and does not care for me
very much. I hope Uncle Anson will be different. He is my mother's
brother, you know, while Aunt Martha is only my father's sister, and
an old maid who has had rather a hard life. Perhaps," she added,
wistfully, "Uncle Anson will love me--although I'm not strong or
well."

Both Patsy and Beth felt desperately sorry for the girl.

"What is Uncle Anson's other name?" asked the latter, for Beth was
the more practical of Uncle John's nieces and noted for her clear
thinking.

"Jones. Mr. Anson Jones."

"Rather a common name, if you have to hunt for him," observed the
questioner, musingly. "Has he been in Leadville long?"

"I do not know," replied Myrtle. "His last letter proved that he was
in Leadville two years ago, and he said he had been very successful
and made money; but he has been in other mining camps, I know, and has
wandered for years all over the West."

"Suppose he should be wandering now?" suggested Patsy; but at the look
of alarm on Myrtle's face she quickly changed the subject, saying:
"You must come in to dinner with us, my dear, for you have had nothing
but cold truck to eat since you left Chicago. They say we shall be in
Denver in another hour, but I'm afraid to believe it. Anyhow, there is
plenty of time for dinner."

"Oh, I can't go, really!" cried the girl. "It's--it's so hard for me
to walk when the train is moving; and--and--I wouldn't feel happy in
that gay, luxurious dining car."

"Well, we must go, anyway, or the Major will be very disagreeable,"
said Patsy. "Good-bye, Myrtle; we shall see you again before we leave
the train."

As the two girls went forward to their coach Beth said to Patsy:

"I'm afraid that poor thing will be greatly disappointed when she gets
to Leadville. Imagine anyone sending a child on such a wild goose
chase--and an injured and almost helpless child, at that!"

"I shudder to think what would become of her, with no uncle to care
for her and only three dollars to her name," added Patsy. "I have
never heard of such an inhuman creature as that Aunt Martha, Beth. I
hope there are not many like her in the world."

At dinner they arranged with the head waiter of the dining car to send
in a substantial meal, smoking hot, to Myrtle Dean, and Patsy herself
inspected the tray before it went to make sure everything was there
that was ordered. They had to satisfy Uncle John's curiosity at this
proceeding by relating to him Myrtle Dean's story, and the kindly
little man became very thoughtful and agreed with them that it was a
cruel act to send the poor girl into a strange country in search of an
uncle who had not been heard of in two years.

When the train pulled into the station at Denver the first care of
John Merrick's party was to look after the welfare of the lame girl.
They got a porter to assist her into the depot waiting room and then
Uncle John inquired about the next train for Leadville, and found it
would not start until the following morning, the late overland train
having missed that day's connections. This was a serious discovery for
poor Myrtle, but she smiled bravely and said:

"I can pass the night in this seat very comfortably, so please don't
worry about me. It is warm here, you know, and I won't mind a bit the
sitting up. Thank you all very much for your kindness, and good-bye.
I'll be all right, never fear."

Uncle John stood looking down at her thoughtfully.

"Did you engage a carriage, Major?" he asked.

"Yes; there's one now waiting," was the reply.

"All right. Now, then, my dear, let's wrap this blanket around you
tight and snug."

"What are you going to do?" asked Myrtle with a startled look.

"Carry you outside. It's pretty cold and snowy, so we must wrap you up.
Now, Major, take hold on the other side. Here we go!"

Patsy smiled--rather pitifully--at the expression of bewilderment on
Myrtle's face. Uncle John and the Major carried her tenderly to a
carriage and put her in the back seat. Patsy sprang in next, with
Mumbles clasped tightly in her arms, the small dog having been forced
to make the journey thus far in the baggage car. Beth and the Major
entered the carriage next, while Uncle John mounted beside the driver
and directed him to the Crown Palace Hotel.

It was growing dark when they reached the dingy hostelry, which might
have been palatial when it was named but was now sadly faded and
tawdry. It proved to be fairly comfortable, however, and the first
care of the party was to see Myrtle Dean safely established in a cosy
room, with a grate fire to cheer her. Patsy and Beth had adjoining
rooms and kept running in for a word with their protégé, who was
so astonished and confused by her sudden good fortune that she was
incapable of speech and more inclined to cry than to laugh.

During the evening Uncle John was busy at the telegraph booth. He sent
several messages to Leadville, to Anson Jones, to the Chief of Police
and to the various hotels; but long before midnight, when the last
replies were received, he knew that Anson Jones had left Leadville
five months ago, and his present whereabouts were unknown. Having
learned these facts the little man went to bed and slept peacefully
until morning.

Myrtle had begged them to see that she was called at five o'clock,
that she might have ample time to get to the depot for her train, but
no one called her and the poor child was so weary and worn with her
trip that the soft bed enthralled her for many hours after daybreak.

Patsy finally aroused her, opening the blinds to let in the sunshine
and then sitting beside Myrtle's bed to stroke her fair hair and tell
her it was nearly noon.

"But my train!" wailed the girl, greatly distressed.

"Oh, the train has gone hours ago. But never mind that, dear. Uncle
John has telegraphed to Leadville and found that Anson Jones is
not there. He left months ago, and is now wandering; in fields and
pastures unknown."

Myrtle sat up in bed and glared at Patsy wild-eyed.

"Gone!" she said. "Gone! Then what am I to do?"

"I can't imagine, dear," said Patsy, soothingly. "What do you think
you will do?"

The girl seemed dazed and for a time could not reply.

"You must have thought of this thing," suggested her new friend, "for
it was quite possible Anson Jones would not be in Leadville when you
arrived there."

"I did not dare think of it," returned Myrtle in a low, frightened
tone. "I once asked Aunt Martha what I could do in case Uncle Anson
wasn't to be found, and she said he _must_ be found, for otherwise I
would be obliged to earn my own living."

"And she knew you to be so helpless!"

"She knows I can sew, if only I can get work to do," said the girl,
simply. "I'm not really a cripple, and I'm getting better of my hurt
every day. Aunt Martha said I would be just as well off in Denver or
Leadville as in Chicago, and made me promise, if the worst came, not
to let any charitable organization send me back to her."

"In other words," exclaimed Patsy, indignantly, "she wanted to get rid
of you, and did not care what became of you."

"She was afraid I would cost her money," admitted the poor child, with
shamed, downcast eyes.

Patsy went to the window and stood looking out for a time. Myrtle
began to dress herself. As she said, she was not utterly helpless,
moving the upper part of her body freely and being able to walk slowly
about a room by holding on to chairs or other furniture.

"I'm afraid I'm causing you a lot of worry over me," said she, smiling
sadly as Patsy turned toward her; "and that is ungrateful when I
remember how kind you have all been. Why, these hours since I met you
have seemed like fairyland. I shall treasure them as long as I live.
There must be another train to Leadville soon, and I'll take that. As
soon as I am ready I will go to the depot and wait there."

Patsy looked at her reflectively. The poor child was called upon to
solve a queer problem--one which might well have bewildered the brain
of a more experienced person.

"Tell me," she said; "why should you go to Leadville at all, now that
you have no friend or relative there to care for you?"

"My ticket is to Leadville, you know," replied Myrtle. "If I did not
go I would waste the money it cost."

Patsy laughed at this.

"You're a wonderfully impractical child," she said, deftly assisting
Myrtle to finish dressing. "What you really need is some one to order
you around and tell you what to do. So you must stop thinking about
yourself, for a time, and let _us_ do the thinking. Here--sit in this
chair by the window. Do you want Mumbles in your lap? All right. Now
gaze upon the scenery until I come back. There's a man washing windows
across the street; watch and see if he does his work properly."

Then she went away to join a conference in Uncle John's sitting room.
Major Doyle was speaking when she entered and his voice was coldly
ironical.

"The temperature outside is six degrees above freezing," he observed.
"The clerk downstairs says the snow is nine feet deep over the
mountain trails and the wind would cut an iron beam in two. If you
take an automobile to California, John, you must put it on snowshoes
and connect it with a steam heating-plant."

Uncle John, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, paced thoughtfully
up and down the room.

"Haggerty said--"

"Didn't I give you Haggerty's record, then?" asked the Major. "If
you want the exact truth it's safe to go directly opposite to what
Haggerty says."

"He's a very decent fellow," protested Mr. Merrick, "and is considered
in the city to be strictly honest."

"But after this?"

"You can't blame him for the weather conditions here. I've been
talking with Denver people myself, this morning, and they all say
it's unusual to have such cold weather at this time of year. The
thermometer hasn't been so low in the past twenty-six years, the
natives say."

"Are they all named Haggerty?" asked the Major, scornfully.

"If you will kindly allow me to speak, and tell you what Haggerty
said," remarked Uncle John tersely, "I shall be able to add to your
information."

"Go ahead, then."

"Haggerty said that in case we ran into cold weather in Denver, which
was possible--"

"Quite possible!"

"Then we had best go south to Santa Fe and take the route of the old
Santa Fe Trail as far as Albuquerque, or even to El Paso. Either way
we will be sure to find fine weather, and good roads into California."

"So Haggerty says."

"It stands to reason," continued Mr. Merrick, "that on the Southern
route we will escape the severe weather. So I have decided to adopt
that plan."

"I think you are quite wise in that," broke in Patsy, before her
father could object.

"All those queer Spanish names sound interesting," said Beth. "When do
we start, Uncle?"

"In a day or two. I have some things here to attend to that may delay
us that long. But when once we are started southward we shall bowl
along right merrily."

"Unless we run into more snowstorms." Of course it was the Major who
said that, and pointedly ignoring the remark Uncle John turned to
Patsy and said:

"How did you find Myrtle Dean this morning?"

"She is rested, and seems very bright and cheerful, Uncle; but of
course she is much distressed by the news that her Uncle Anson has
vanished from Leadville. Yet she thinks she will continue her journey
by the next train, as she has paid for her ticket and can't afford to
waste the money."

"It would be absurd for the child to go to Leadville on that account.
A mining camp is no place for such a frail thing," returned Mr.
Merrick. "What would you suggest, Patsy?"

"Really, Uncle John, I don't know what to suggest."

"She can never earn her living by sewing," declared Beth. "What she
ought to have is a trained nurse and careful attention."

"I'll have a doctor up to look her over," said Uncle John, in his
decisive way. He was a mild little man generally, but when he made up
his mind to do a thing it was useless to argue with him. Even Major
Doyle knew that; but the old soldier was so fond of arguing for
the sake of argument, and so accustomed to oppose his wealthy
brother-in-law--whom he loved dearly just the same--that he was
willing to accept defeat rather than permit Mr. Merrick to act without
protest.




CHAPTER IV

AN INTERESTING PROTÉGÉ


A young physician was appointed by the management to attend any guest
who might require his services, and Uncle John had a talk with him and
sent him to Myrtle's room to give her a thorough examination. This he
did, and reported that the girl's present condition was due largely to
mismanagement of her case at the time she was injured. With care she
would get better and stronger rapidly, but the hip joint was out of
its socket and only a skillful operation would serve to permanently
relieve her of lameness.

"What she needs just now," continued the doctor, "is a pair of
crutches, so she can get around better and be in the fresh air and
sunshine as much as possible. She is a very frail little woman at
present and must build up her health and strength before submitting
to the operation I have mentioned. Then, if it is properly done, she
ought to recover completely and be as good as new."

"I must inform you," said Uncle John, "that Myrtle Dean is just a
little waif whom my nieces picked up on the train. I believe she is
without friends or money. Such being the circumstances, what would you
advise?"

The doctor shook his head gravely.

"Poor thing!" he said. "She ought to be rich, at this juncture,
instead of poor, for the conditions facing her are serious. The
operation I speak of is always an expensive one, and meantime the
child must go to some charitable institution or wear out her feeble
strength in trying to earn enough to keep the soul in her body. She
seems to have a brave and beautiful nature, sir, and were she educated
and cared for would some day make a splendid woman. But the world is
full of these sad cases. I'm poor myself, Mr. Merrick, but this child
interests me, and after you have gone I shall do all in my power to
assist her."

"Thank you," said Uncle John, thoughtfully nodding his bald head.
"I'll think it over and see you again, doctor, before I leave."

An hour later Myrtle was fitted with crutches of the best sort
obtainable, and was overjoyed to find how greatly they assisted her.
The Major, a kindly man, decided to take Myrtle out for a drive, and
while they were gone Uncle John had a long conversation with Beth and
Patsy.

"Here is a case," said he, "where my dreadful money can do some good.
I am anxious to help Myrtle Dean, for I believe she is deserving of
my best offices. But I don't exactly know what to do. She is really
_your_ protégé, my dears, and I am going to put the affair in your
hands for settlement. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it. Spend
my money as freely upon Myrtle as you please."

The girls faced the problem with enthusiasm.

"She's a dear little thing," remarked Patsy, "and seems very grateful
for the least kindness shown her. I am sure she has never been treated
very nicely by that stony-hearted old aunt of hers."

"In all my experience," said Beth, speaking as if her years were
doubled, "I have never known anyone so utterly helpless. She is very
young and inexperienced, with no friends, no money, and scarcely
recovered from an accident. It is clearly our duty to do something for
Myrtle, and aside from the humane obligation I feel that already I
love the child, having known her only a day."

"Admitting all this, Beth," returned her uncle, "you are not answering
my question. What shall we do for Myrtle? How can we best assist her?"

"Why not take her to California with us?" inquired Patsy, with sudden
inspiration. "The sunshine and roses would make a new girl of her in a
few weeks."

"Could she ride so far in an automobile?" asked Beth, doubtfully.

"Why not? The fresh air would be just the thing for her. You'll get a
big touring car, won't you, Uncle John?"

"I've bought one already--a seven-seated 'Autocrat'--and there will be
plenty of room in it for Myrtle," he said.

"Good gracious! Where did you find the thing so suddenly?" cried
Patsy.

"I made the purchase this morning, bright and early, before you were
up," replied Mr. Merrick, smilingly. "It is a fine new car, and as
soon as I saw it I knew it was what I wanted. It is now being fitted
up for our use."

"Fitted up?"

"Yes. I've an idea in my head to make it a movable hotel. If we're
going to cross the plains and the mountains and the deserts, and all
that sort of thing, we must be prepared for any emergencies. I've also
sent for a chauffeur who is highly recommended. He knows the route
we're going to take; can make all repairs necessary in case of
accident, and is an experienced driver. I expect him here any minute.
His name is Wampus."

"But about Myrtle,"' said Beth. "Can we make her comfortable on a long
ride?"

"Certainly," asserted Uncle John. "We are not going to travel day and
night, my dear, for as soon as we get away from this frozen country we
can take our time and journey by short stages. My notion is that we
will have more fun on the way than we will in California."

"Myrtle hasn't any proper clothes," observed Patsy, reflectively.
"We'll have to shop for her, Beth, while Uncle is getting the car
ready."

"Are you sure to leave to-morrow, Uncle John?" inquired Beth.

"To-morrow or the next day. There's no use leaving before the
'Autocrat' is ready to ship."

"Oh; we're not going to ride in it, then?"

"Not just yet. We shall take the train south to Santa Fe, and perhaps
to Albuquerque. I'll talk to Wampus about that. When we reach a good
climate we'll begin the journey overland--and not before."

"Then," said Patsy, "I'm sure we shall have time to fit out Myrtle
very nicely."

Mr. Wampus was announced just then, and while Uncle John conferred
with the chauffeur his two nieces went to their room to talk over
Myrtle Dean's outfit and await the return of the girl from her ride.

"They tell me," said Mr. Merrick, "that you are an experienced
chauffeur."

"I am celebrate," replied Wampus. "Not as chauffeur, but as expert
automobilist."

He was a little man and quite thin. His legs were short and his arms
long. He had expressionless light gray eyes and sandy hair cropped
close to his scalp. His mouth was wide and good-humored, his chin long
and broad, his ears enormous in size and set at right angles with
his head. His cheek bones were as high and prominent as those of an
Indian, and after a critical examination of the man Uncle John was
impelled to ask his nationality.

"I am born in Canada, at Quebec Province," he answered. "My father
he trapper; my mother squaw. For me, I American, sir, and my name
celebrate over all the world for knowing automobile like father knows
his son." He paused, and added impressively: "I am Wampus!"

"Have you ever driven an 'Autocrat' car?" asked Mr. Merrick.

"'Autocrat?' I can take him apart blindfold, an' put him together
again."

"Have you ever been overland to California?"

"Three time."

"Then you know the country?"

"In the dark. I am Wampus."

"Very good, Wampus. You seem to be the man I want, for I am going
to California in an 'Autocrat' car, by way of the Santa Fe Trail
and--and--"

"No matter. We find way. I am--"

"I know. Now tell me, Wampus: if I employ you will you be faithful and
careful? I have two girls in my party--three girls, in fact--and from
the moment you enter my service I shall expect you to watch over our
welfare and guide us with skill and intelligence. Will you do this?"

The man seemed somewhat offended by the question.

"When you have Wampus, what more you want?" he inquired. "Maybe you
not know Wampus. You come from far East. All right. You go out and ask
automobile man about Wampus. Ask ever'body. When you have inquire you
feel more happy. I come again."

He started to go, but Mr. Merrick restrained him.

"You have been highly recommended already," said he. "But you cannot
expect me to have as high an opinion of you as you have of yourself;
at least, until I know you better. Would you like to undertake this
engagement?"

"Yes. Just now I free. My business is expert automobilist. I am
Wampus. But perhaps you want cheap man. My price high."

"What is your price?"

"Fifty dollar week. You eat me an' sleep me."

"I do not object to your price. Come out with me to the garage and I
will show you my car and explain what is being done to it."

Although all the automobile men seemed to defer most respectfully to
Wampus, Mr. Merrick did not neglect to make proper inquiries in regard
to the man. Locally he really was "celebrate" and Uncle John was
assured on all sides that he was fortunate to get so intelligent and
experienced a chauffeur as this same Wampus.

"He seems to have instinctive knowledge of all machinery," said one
informant, "and can handle perfectly any car that is made. The only
trouble with the fellow is that he is conceited."

"I've noticed that," returned Mr. Merrick.

"Another thing," said the gentleman; "don't believe implicitly all
that Wampus tells you. He has a habit of imagining things. But he is a
faithful, honest fellow, for all that, and will handle your car better
than any other man you could get in Denver--or anywhere in the West, I
imagine."

So Wampus was engaged, and putting the man's references and
indorsements all together Mr. Merrick felt that he had gained a prize.

When the big Major, returning from his drive, escorted Myrtle Dean to
the elevator, the girl was joyously using her new crutches. Patsy and
Beth met her and said they had important news to communicate. Not
until she was in her own room, seated in a comfortable chair and
gazing at them anxiously, did they tell the poor waif of the good
fortune in store for her.

"Uncle John," announced Patsy, "has invited you to join our party and
go to California with us."

Myrtle stared a moment, as if trying to realize what that meant. The
tiny Mumbles, sitting beside the chair with his head cocked to one
side, suddenly made a prodigious leap and landed in Myrtle's lap,
where he began licking her chin and wagging his stumpy tail as if
seconding the invitation. As the girl stroked his soft hair her eyes
filled with tears.

"Oh, you are all so kind to me!" she sobbed, losing her composure.
"But I can't go! Of course I can't go."

"Why not?" asked Beth, smiling.

"It would be an--impersition!" Poor Myrtle sometimes stumbled over big
words. "I know that. I can't let you burden your happy party with a
poor cripple, just because your hearts are kind and you pity me!"

"Nonsense!" said Beth. "You're not a cripple, dear; you're just an
invalid, and will soon be as strong as any of us. We have invited you,
Myrtle, because we all like you, and shall soon learn to love you. We
are selfish enough to want your companionship. It isn't pity, at all,
you see."

"I'm mighty glad," added Patsy, "your Uncle Anson ran away from
Leadville. If he hadn't done that we should have had to give you
up; but now we may keep you as long as we wish, for you haven't any
particular engagement to interfere with our plans."

All this was said so frankly and unaffectedly that little Myrtle was
led to abandon her suspicion and grew radiant with delight. Indeed,
she hugged and squeezed the squirming Mumbles until he resented such
strenuous fondling and escaped to Patsy's more moderate embraces.
Myrtle had never yet ridden in an automobile, and the prospect of
a long journey across the country in a big touring car, with
California's roses and sunshine at the end of it, was certainly
alluring enough to intoxicate one far more accustomed to pleasure than
this friendless, impoverished girl.

After the cousins had explained all their plans to Myrtle and assured
her she was to be their cherished guest for a long time--until she was
well and strong again, at the least--they broached the subject of
her outfit. The poor child flushed painfully while admitting the
meagerness of her wardrobe. All her possessions were contained in one
small canvas "hold-all," and she lacked many necessities which her
callous aunt had suggested that Uncle Anson might be induced to buy
for her once she had joined him in Leadville. Uncle John's nieces grew
more and more indignant as they discovered the details of this selfish
woman's crime--for Patsy declared it was nothing less than a crime to
send a helpless child far into the West to search for an unknown uncle
whose whereabouts were only conjectural.

That very afternoon Beth and Patsy began shopping for Myrtle, and
presently all sorts of parcels, big and little, began to arrive for
their new protégé. Myrtle was amazed and awed by the splendor of her
new apparel, and could scarcely believe her good fortune. It seemed
like a fairy tale to her, and she imagined herself a Cinderella with
two fairy godmothers who were young and pretty girls possessing the
purse of Fortunatus and the generosity of Glinda the Good. At night,
when she was supposed to be asleep, Myrtle crept from her bed, turned
on the electric light and gloated over her treasures, which she had
almost feared might vanish into thin air and leave her as desolate as
before.

Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, the girls took Myrtle out
with them to some of the shops, fitting her to shoes and gloves and
having her try on some ready-made gowns so that they might be quickly
altered for her use. Patsy also bought her a set of soft and pretty
furs, thinking she might need them on the journey if the weather
continued cool, and this seemed to cap the climax of Myrtle's
happiness.

"What 'stonishes me most," gasped the child, trying to get her breath
between the surprises she experienced, "is how you can think of so
many things to do for me. Of course I know you are rich; but I've
never before heard of rich people being so very generous to poor
ones."

"Once," said Beth, gravely, "we were poor ourselves, Patsy and I, and
had to work hard for our living. That was before our Uncle John came
and gave us a share of his money, together with his love and sympathy.
Isn't it natural, my dear, that we should now be eager to share our
good fortune with you, since we have more money than we can use
otherwise, and you are to be our little friend and companion?"

"Perhaps so," replied Myrtle, smiling gaily and much comforted by the
explanation. "But, oh dear! I'm so glad you found me!"

"We are glad, too," said Patsy. "But here it is, time for luncheon,
and we've wasted the whole morning in shopping. I'm sure the Major
will be cross if we do not hurry back to the hotel."




CHAPTER V

A WONDER ON WHEELS


But the Major was not cross when they met him in Uncle John's sitting
room. He beamed upon the three girls most genially, for he liked
Myrtle and fully approved all that was being done for her.

"Of course it's like Patsy," he had said to Mr. Merrick that morning.
"She couldn't help being a sweet ministering angel if she tried; and
Beth is growing more and more like her. It will do those girls good,
John, to have some human being to coddle and care for. If Patsy could
have a fault, it would be wasting so much affection on that bunch o'
rags Mumbles, who audaciously chewed up one of my pet slippers while I
was at dinner last evening. No dog is a fit thing to occupy a girl's
time, and this imp o' mischief Mumbles must take a back seat from now
on."

Uncle John laughed, for he knew his brother-in-law had never conquered
his antipathy for poor Mumbles, and realized why.

"Take care that you do not get jealous of Myrtle," he replied.
"You're a selfish old beast, and don't wish Patsy to love anyone but
yourself."

"And why should she?" was the inquiry. "Any dutiful daughter ought to
be satisfied with loving such a father as I am."

"And in that," remarked Uncle John, whimsically, "you remind me of
Wampus. You should strut around and say: 'Behold me! I am Patsy's
father!'"

The Major was full of news at luncheon time.

"What do you think, my dears?" he said, addressing the girls. "Your
crazy uncle must have had another snooze, unbeknown to us, for he's
got the wildest idea into his head that human brains--or lack of
them--ever conceived."

"You are not very respectful, sir," retorted Mr. Merrick stiffly,
as he ate his salad. "But we must not expect too much of a disabled
soldier--and an Irishman to boot--who has not been accustomed to good
society."

Major Doyle looked at his brother-in-law with an approving smile.

"Very well put, John," he said. "You're improving in repartee.
Presently you'll add that I'm unlettered and uncivilized, and no fit
associate for a person who has made an egregious fortune out of tin
cans in the wilds of Oregon."

"But what's the news?" asked Patsy impatiently. "What new idea has
Uncle John conceived?"

"First," replied the Major, "he has bought an automobile as big as a
baggage car. Next he has engaged a chauffeur who is a wild Canadian
Indian with a trace of erratic French blood in his veins--a
combination liable to result in anything. Mr. Wampus, the half-breed
calls himself, and from the looks of him he's murdered many a one in
his day."

"Oh, Major!"

"Show me an automobile driver that hasn't. Myrtle knows. It's no trick
to knock over a peaceful pedestrian or so, to say nothing of chickens,
cats and dogs mangled by the roadside. I confidently expect he'll make
a pancake of dear little Mumbles before he's five miles on the road.
Eh, Patsy?"

"Be sensible, Daddy."

"It's my strong point. If I'm any judge of character this Wampus is a
speed fiend."

"He is recommended as a very careful driver," said Mr. Merrick; "and
moreover he has signed a contract to obey my orders."

"Very good," said Beth. "I'm not afraid of Mr. Wampus. What next,
Major?"

"Next," continued Patsy's father, with a solemn wink at the row of
curious faces, "your inventive relative has ordered the automobile
rebuilt, thinking he's wiser than the makers. He's having a furnace
put in it, for one thing--it's a limousine, you know, and all enclosed
in glass. Also it's as big as a barn, as I said."

"You said a freight car," observed Patsy.

"True. A small barn or a big freight car. The seats are to be made
convertible into sleeping berths, so if we get caught out overnight we
have all the comforts of a hotel except the bell boys."

"I'll be the bell boy," promised Patsy.

"Also we're to take a portable kitchen along, like they use in the
army, with a gasoline stove all complete. The thing fits under the
back seat, I believe."

"All this," said Beth, "strikes me as being very sensible and a credit
to Uncle John's genius. I'm a good cook, as you know, and the kitchen
outfit appeals to me. But how about provisions?"

"Provisions are being provided," replied her uncle, genially
smiling at her praise. However scornfully the Major might view his
preparations he was himself mightily proud of them.

"Tinned stuff, I presume," remarked his brother-in-law. "John Merrick
has a weakness for tin cans, having got his money out of them."

"You're wrong," protested Uncle John. "I merely made my money from the
tin the cans were made of. But we won't get money out of these cans
when they're opened; it will be something better, such as sardines and
hominy, preserved cream and caviar, beans and boned chicken."

"Sounds fine!" cried Patsy with enthusiasm. "But how can you arrange
to carry so much, Uncle?"

"The limousine body is pretty big, as the Major says, and high enough
to allow me to put in a false bottom. In the space beneath it I shall
stow all the bedding, the eatables and kitchen utensils, and a small
tent. Then we shall be prepared for whatever happens."

"I doubt it," objected the Major. "There's gasoline to be reckoned
with. It's well enough to feed ourselves, but what if we ran short of
the precious feed for the engines?"

"The two tanks will hold sixty gallons. That ought to carry us any
reasonable distance," replied Mr. Merrick.

"You see, Daddy, our Uncle John is an experienced traveler, while you
are not," declared Patsy. "In all our journeys together I've found him
full of resources and very farsighted. This trip doesn't worry me at
all."

"Nor me," added Beth. "We are sure to have a delightful time under
Uncle's auspices."

"Wampus," said Uncle John, "is so pleased with my preparations that he
wants us to start in the car from here."

"Can you put it on runners, like a sledge?" asked the Major. "That's
the only way it could travel through this snow. Or perhaps you'll hire
a snowplow to go ahead of it."

"No; I told Wampus it was impracticable," was the reply. "We shall
load our machine on a flat car and ship it to Albuquerque, which is in
New Mexico and almost directly south of Denver. We shall then be over
the worst grades of the Rocky Mountains."

"And which way do we go then?" inquired Beth.

"I have not yet decided. We can go still farther south, into Texas,
or make our way down into Phoenix and across the prairies to Imperial
Valley, or follow the Santa Fe route by way of the Grand Canyon."

"Oh, let's go that way!" exclaimed Patsy.

"And freeze to death?" asked the Major. "It's the northernmost route."

"When we get to Albuquerque we will be below the line of frosts and
snow," explained Mr. Merrick. "The climate is genial all through that
section during winter. Haggerty says--"

"I guessed it!" groaned the Major. "If Haggerty recommends this trip
we'll surely be in trouble."

"Aside from Haggerty, Wampus knows that country thoroughly," said
Uncle John stoutly.

"Tell me: did Haggerty recommend Wampus?"

"No."

"Then there's hopes of the fellow. As you say, John, there is no need
to decide until we get to Albuquerque. When do we make the start?"

"Day after to-morrow. The car will be shipped to-morrow night, but our
party will follow by daylight, so as to see Colorado Springs, Pike's
Peak and Pueblo as we pass by them."




CHAPTER VI

WAMPUS SPEEDS


"So this is Albuquerque," observed Patsy Doyle, as they alighted from
the train. "Is it a big town playing peek-a-boo among those hills,
Uncle John, or is this really all there is to the place?"

"It's a pretty big town, my dear. Most of the houses are back on the
prairie, but fortunately our hold is just here at the depot."

It was a quaint, attractive building, made of adobe cement, in the
ancient mission style; but it proved roomy and extremely comfortable.

"Seems to me," whispered Myrtle to Beth, "we're high up on the
mountains, even yet."

"So we are," was the reply. "We're just between Glorietta Pass and the
Great Continental Divide. But the steepest of the Rockies are behind
us, and now the slopes are more gradual all the way to California. How
do you like it, dear?"

"Oh, the mountains are grand!" exclaimed Myrtle. "I had never imagined
anything so big and stately and beautiful." The other girls had seen
mountains before, but this was their friend's first experience, and
they took much pleasure in Myrtle's enthusiastic delight over all she
saw.

Adjoining the hotel was a bazaar, in front of which sat squatted upon
the ground two rows of Mojave Indians, mostly squaws, with their
curious wares spread out for sale upon blankets. There must have
been a score of them, and they exhibited odd pottery ornaments of
indistinguishable shapes, strings of glass beads and beadwork bags,
and a few really fine jardinieres and baskets. After the girls had
been to their rooms and established themselves in the hotel they
hurried out to interview the Indians, Myrtle Dean supporting herself
by her crutches while Patsy and Beth walked beside her. The lame girl
seemed to attract the squaws at once, and one gave her a bead necklace
while another pressed upon her a small brown earthenware fowl with
white spots all over it. This latter might have been meant to
represent a goose, an ostrich or a guinea hen; but Myrtle was
delighted with it and thanked the generous squaw, who responded merely
with a grunt, not understanding English. A man in a wide sombrero who
stood lazily by observed the incident and said:

"Don't thank the hag. She's selfish. The Mojaven think it brings luck
to have a gift accepted by a cripple."

Myrtle flushed painfully.

"I suppose my crutches make me look more helpless than I really am,"
she whispered to her friends as they moved away. "But they're such a
help in getting around that I'm very grateful to have them, and as I
get stronger I can lay them aside and not be taken for a cripple any
more."

The air was delightfully invigorating here in the mountains, yet it
was not at all cold. The snow, as Uncle John had predicted, had all
been left behind them. After dinner they took a walk through the
pretty town and were caught in the dark before they could get back.
The twilights are very brief in Albuquerque.

"This is a very old town," remarked Uncle John. "It was founded by a
Spanish adventurer named Cabrillo in the seventeenth century, long
before the United States came into existence. But of course it never
amounted to anything until the railroad was built."

Next day they were sitting in a group before the hotel when a man was
seen approaching them with shuffling steps. Uncle John looked at him
closely and Mumbles leaped from Patsy's lap and rushed at the stranger
with excited barks.

"Why, it's Wampus," said Mr. Merrick. "The car must have arrived."

Wampus caught up the baby dog and held it under his arm while he took
his cap off and bowed respectfully to his employer.

"He an' me, we here," he announced.

"Who is 'he,' Wampus?"

"Aut'mob'l'."

"When did you arrive?"

"Half hour ago. He on side track."

"Very good. You have made capital time, for a freight train. Let us go
at once and get the car unloaded."

Wampus hesitated, looking sheepish.

"I been arrest," he said.

"Arrested! For what?"

"I make speed. They not like it. They arrest me--_Me_--Wampus!" He
straightened his slim little form with an assumption of dignity.

"I knew it," sighed the Major. "I decided he was a speed fiend the
first time I saw him."

"But--dear me!" said Uncle John; "how could you be arrested for
speeding when the automobile was on a fiat car?"

Wampus glanced over his shoulder. Two railroad men had followed him
and were now lounging against the porch railing. One had his right eye
bandaged while the other carried one arm in a sling. Both scowled as
they eyed the Canadian fixedly.

"Freight train make pretty slow time," began the chauffeur. "I know
you in hurry, so freight train he make me nervous. I say polite to
conductor I like to go faster. He laugh. I say polite to brakeman we
must go faster. He make abusing speech. I climb into engine an' say
polite to engineer to turn on steam. He insult me. So I put my foot
on him an' run engine myself. I am Wampus. I understan' engine--all
kinds. Brakeman he swear; he swear so bad I put him off train.
Conductor must have lump of coal in eye to keep quiet. Fireman he jus'
smile an' whistle soft an' say nothing; so we friends. When I say
'shovel in coal,' he shovel. When we pass stations quick like, he
whistle with engine loud. So now we here an' I been arrest."

Patsy tittered and stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth. Uncle John
first chuckled and then looked grave. The Major advanced to Wampus and
soberly shook his hand.

"You're a brave man, sir, for a chauffeur," he said. "I congratulate
you,"

Wampus still looked uneasy.

"I been arrest," he repeated.

Uncle John beckoned the railroad men to come forward.

"Is this story true?" he asked.

"Most of it, sir," answered the conductor. "It's only by the mercy of
Providence we're here alive. This scoundrel held up the whole crew
and ran away with the engine. We might have had a dozen collisions or
smash-ups, for he went around curves at sixty miles an hour. We'd cut
our train in two, so as to pull half of it at a time up the grade at
Lamy, and so there were only six cars on this end of it. The other
half is seventy miles back, and part of what we have here ought to
have been left at the way stations. I can't make out, sir, whether
it's burglary, or highway robbery or arson an' murder he's guilty of,
or all of 'em; but I've telegraphed for instructions and I'll hold him
a prisoner until the superintendent tells me what to do with him."

Mr. Merrick was very sober now.

"The matter is serious," he said. "This man is in my employ, but I did
not hire him to steal a railway train or fight its crew. Not badly
hurt, I hope, sir?"

"My eye's pretty bad," growled the conductor. "Tom, here, thought his
arm was broken, at first; but I guess it's only sprained."

"How about the brakeman he threw off the train?"

"Why, we were not going fast, just then, and it didn't hurt him. We
saw him get up and shake his fist at the robber. If he ever meets Mr.
Wampus again he'll murder him."

"Come with me to the telegraph office and I'll see what I can do to
straighten this out," said Mr. Merrick briskly. On the way he remarked
to the conductor: "I'm sorry I let Wampus travel alone. He's just
a little bit affected in his mind, you know, and at times isn't
responsible for what he does."

The conductor scratched his head doubtfully.

"I suspected he was crazy," he replied, "and that's why I didn't hurt
him. But if he's crazy he's the most deliberate loonatic I ever run
acrost."

The superintendent had just wired instructions to put the outlaw in
jail when Mr. Merrick reached the telegraph office, but after an hour
spent in sending messages back and forth a compromise was affected and
the little millionaire had agreed to pay a goodly sum to the company
by way of damages and to satisfy the crew of the freight train--which
he succeeded in doing by a further outlay of money.

"You're not worth all this bother," said Mr. Merrick to the humbled
Wampus, when the final settlement had been made, "but chauffeurs are
scarce in Albuquerque and I can't be delayed. Never, sir, while you
are in my employ, must you allow yourself to be guilty of such an act
again!"

Wampus sighed.

"Never," he promised, "will I ride by freight train again. Send car by
express. I am Wampus. Freight train he make me nervous."

The automobile was quickly unloaded and at once Wampus set to work to
get it in running order. He drove it to the hotel at about sundown
and Mr. Merrick told the girls to be ready to start after an early
breakfast the next morning.

"Which way do we go?" asked the Major.

"We'll have a talk with Wampus this evening and decide," said Uncle
John.

"Don't leave out the Grand Canyon!" begged Patsy.

"Nor the Petrified Forests." added Beth. "And couldn't we visit the
Moki Indian reservation?"

"Those things may be well enough in their way," observed the Major,
"but is their way our way? That's the question. The one thing we must
take into consideration is the matter of roads. We must discover which
road is the best and then take it. We're not out of the mountains yet,
and we shall have left the railroad, the last vestige of civilization,
behind us."

But the conference evolved the fact, according to Wampus, that the
best and safest roads were for a time along the line of the Santa Fe,
directly west; and this would enable them to visit most of the scenes
the girls were eager to see.

"No boulevard in mountain anywhere," remarked Wampus; "but road he
good enough to ride on. Go slow an' go safe. I drive 'Autocrat' from
here to Los Angeles blindfold."

With this assurance they were obliged to be content, and an eager
and joyful party assembled next morning to begin the journey so long
looked forward to. The landlord of the hotel, a man with a careworn
face, shook his head dismally and predicted their return to
Albuquerque within twenty-four hours.

"Of course people _do_ make the trip from here to the coast," he said;
"but it's mighty seldom, and they all swear they'll never do it again.
It's uncomfortable, and it's dangerous."

"Why?" asked Uncle John.

"You're headed through a wild country, settled only by Mexicans,
Indians, and gangs of cowboys still worse. The roads are something
awful. That man Wampus is an optimist, and will tackle anything and
then be sorry for it afterward. The towns are scattered from here on,
and you won't strike a decent meal except at the railway stations.
Taking all these things into consideration, I advise you to make your
headquarters here for the winter."

"Thank you," returned Mr. Merrick pleasantly. "It's too late for us to
back out now, even if we felt nervous and afraid, which I assure you
we do not."

"We are not looking for excessive comfort on this journey, you know,"
remarked Patsy. "But thank you for your warning, sir. It has given us
great pleasure; for if there were no chance of adventure before us we
should all be greatly disappointed."

Again the landlord shook his head.

"Right?" asked Wampus, at the wheel.

"Go ahead," said Mr. Merrick, and slowly the big car started upon its
journey into the Golden West.

The air was keen and bracing, but not chilly. The sunshine flooded the
landscape on every side. All the windows of the limousine had been
lowered.

Myrtle Dean had been established in one corner of the broad back seat,
where she nestled comfortably among the cushions. Uncle John sat
beside her, with Beth and the Major on the seat on front. There were
two folding chairs that could be used on occasion, and the back seat
easily accommodated three, the "Autocrat" being a seven passenger car;
but Patsy was perched in front beside Wampus, which was really the
choicest seat of all, so there was ample room inside to "swing a cat,"
as the Major stated--if anyone had cared to attempt such a feat. Of
course the wee Mumbles was in Patsy's lap, and he seemed to have
overcome his first aversion of Wampus and accepted the little
chauffeur into the circle of his favored acquaintances. Indeed, they
soon became fast friends.

On leaving the town Wampus turned into a smooth, hard wagon road that
ran in zigzag fashion near the railroad grade. The car bowled along
right merrily for some twenty miles, when the driver turned to the
right and skimmed along a high plateau. It was green and seemed
fertile, but scarcely a farmhouse could they see, although the clear
air permitted a broad view.

"He up hill now all way to Continental Divide," said Wampus to Patsy;
"then he go down hill long time."

"It doesn't seem to be much uphill," returned the girl, "and the road
is very good."

"We make time here," observed the driver. "By'm-by we find rock an'
bad road. Then we go slow."

The Major was watching the new chauffeur carefully, and despite his
dismal forebodings the man seemed not at all reckless but handled his
car with rare skill. So the critic turned to his brother-in-law and
asked:

"Is it fully decided which way we shall go?"

"I've left it to Wampus and the girls," was the reply. "On account
of our little invalid here we shall take the most direct route to
California. It isn't a short route, at that. On Beth's account we
shall visit the Moki and Navajo reservations, and on Patsy's account
we're going by way of the Grand Canyon of Arizona. Wampus says he
knows every inch of the road, so for my part I'm content to be just a
passenger."

"Which remark," said the Major, "indicates that I'm to be just a
passenger also. Very well, John; I'm willing. There may be trouble
ahead of us, but to-day is so magnificent that it's wise to forget
everything but the present."




CHAPTER VII

THE CHAUFFEUR IMPROVES


They all enjoyed that first day's ride. Wampus did not drive fast,
for there were places where he couldn't; yet by one o'clock they had
reached Laguna, sixty miles from their starting point. There was an
excellent railway hotel here, so they decided to spend the rest of the
day and the night at Laguna and proceed early the next morning.

The big car was an object of much curiosity to the natives, and during
the afternoon Wampus was the center of attraction. Myrtle had stood
the ride remarkably well, and Uncle John noticed that her eyes were
brighter and a shade of color had already crept into her pale cheeks.
Having risen early all three of the girls took a nap during the
afternoon, as did Mr. Merrick. The Major gossiped with the station
agent, the most important individual in town, and gleaned sundry
information that made him look rather glum.

"I don't say the road's exactly dangerous, mind you," added the man,
"but these greasers and Injuns get mischievous, at times, harmless
as they look. All I'm advisin' is that you keep a sharp eye on 'em."
Finding Wampus cleaning his car, while a circle of silent, attentive
inhabitants looked on, the Major said to him in a low voice: "Have you
a revolver?"

Wampus shook his head.

"Never carry him," he replied. "All gun he make trouble. Sometime he
shoot wrong man. Don't like gun. Why should I? I am Wampus!"

The Major entered the hotel frowning.

"That fellow," he muttered, "is a natural-born coward, and we needn't
expect help from him if trouble comes."

No trouble came that night, however, and in the early morning, while
the sky was still reddened by the rising sun, they were off again,
following more closely now the railroad, as rocky defiles began to
loom up before them.

By the zigzag course they were obliged to take it was ninety miles to
Gallup, and this they easily made, despite the growing steepness of
the mountain road. Here was the famous Continental Divide, and the
State of Arizona lay just beyond. The Continental Divide is the ridge
that separates the streams tributary to the Atlantic ocean from those
tributary to the Pacific, so that after crossing it one might well
feel that at last the East was left behind and the great West with its
romance now faced him.

They came to the little town in time to see the gorgeous sunset from
this, the highest point of the Rockies, and especially to Myrtle, who
had traveled so little, was the sight impressive and awe inspiring.
There was a small but fairly good hotel in the place, and after supper
Patsy and Beth went out for a stroll, being much interested in the
dark-skinned Mexicans and still darker Indians who constituted far
the larger part of the population. The party had everywhere met with
respect from these people, who, although curious, were silent and
well-behaved; so Uncle John and the Major, deep in a political
argument on the hotel porch, had no thought of danger when they saw
the two girls start away arm in arm.

The sky was still aglow, although the sun had set, and in the subdued
light the coarse adobe huts and rickety frame dwellings were endowed
with a picturesque appearance they did not really possess. Beth and
Patsy came to the end of the main street rather suddenly, and stood a
moment looking at the shadows cast by the rocky cliffs near by. Some
of the peaks had snow upon them, and there was a chill in the air, now
that the sun had withdrawn its warmth. The girls turned presently and
took another route that might bring them quicker to the hotel, but had
only proceeded a short way when in passing a rather solitary adobe
structure a man stepped from the shadow of the wall and confronted
them. He wore a red flannel shirt and a broad sombrero, the latter
scarcely covering his dark, evil features.

The cousins stopped short. Then Beth whispered: "Let's go the other
way." But as they were about to turn the Mexican drew a revolver and
said in harsh, uneven English: "You halt. Keep a-still, or I shoot."

"What do you want?" asked Beth, quietly.

"Money. All you got. Jew'lry--all you got. Give 'm quick, or I shoot!"

As they stood hesitating a sound of footsteps was heard and someone
approached quickly from behind them. Patsy looked hurriedly around
and saw Wampus. He was walking with his thin little form bent and his
hands deep in his trousers pockets. Incidentally Wampus was smoking
the stub of a cigar, as was his custom when off duty.

The Mexican saw him, but marking his small size and mild manner did
not flinch from his position. With one revolver still leveled at the
girls he drew another from a hip pocket and turned it upon Wampus.

"You stop--halt!" he exclaimed fiercely.

Wampus did not halt. His eyes fixed upon the bandit's ugly features,
still puffing his cigar and with hands in his pockets he walked
deliberately past Patsy and Beth and straight up to the muzzles of the
revolvers.

"Stop!" cried the Mexican; and again: "Stop!"

Wampus stopped when one revolver nearly touched his nose and another
covered his body. Slowly he drew one hand from his pocket and grasped
the barrel of the nearest weapon.

"Let him go," he said, not raising his voice. The man stared into the
little chauffeur's eyes and released his hold of the revolver. Wampus
looked at it, grunted, and put it in his pocket.

"Now the other gun," he said.

The fellow drew back and half turned, as if to escape.

"No, no!" said Wampus, as if annoyed. "You give me gun. See--I am
Wampus!"

Sheepishly enough the Mexican surrendered the other weapon.

"Now turn aroun' an' go to hotel," commanded the chauffeur.

The man obeyed. Wampus turned to the girls, who were now not only
relieved but on the verge of laughter and said deprecatingly:

"Do not be scare, for poor man he make no harm. He jus' try a
goozle--no dare shoot here in town. Then come; I go back with you."

Silently they accompanied him along the lane, the Mexican keeping in
front and looking around from time to time to see if they followed.
A short distance from the hotel Wampus gave a queer whistle which
brought the bandit cringing to his side. Without ado he handed the
fellow his two revolvers and said calmly: "Go 'long."

The Mexican "went along" briskly and the dusk soon swallowed him up.

"Thank you, Wampus," said Patsy, gratefully; "you've saved us from a
dreadful experience."

"Oh, that!" snapping his fingers scornfully. "He not a good bad-man,
for he too much afraid. I have no gun, for I do not like gun. Still,
if I not come, he make you give him money an' trinkets."

"You were very kind," replied Beth, "and I thank you as much as Patsy
does. If you had not arrived just when you did I might have killed the
man."

"You?" inquired Wampus, doubtingly.

"Yes." She showed him a small pearl-handled revolver which she carried
in the pocket of her jacket. "I can shoot, Wampus."

The little chauffeur grinned; then looked grave and shook his head.

"It make funny world, these day," said he. "One time girl from city
would scream to see a gun; now she carry him in pocket an' can shoot!
Ver' fine; ver' fine. But I like me old style girl who make scream.
Then a man not feel foolish when he try protect her."

Patsy laughed merrily; but Beth saw he was offended and hastened to
say:

"I am very grateful to you, Wampus, and I know you are a brave and
true man. I shall expect you to protect me at all times, for I really
don't wish to shoot anyone, although I think it best to carry a
revolver. Always after this, before I am tempted to fire, I shall look
to see if you are not near me."

"All right," he said more cheerfully. "I am Wampus. I will be there,
Miss 'Lizbeth."




CHAPTER VIII

AMONG THE INDIANS


Little Myrtle grew brighter day by day. She even grew merry and
developed a fine sense of humor, showing new traits in her hitherto
undeveloped character. The girl never mentioned her injury nor
admitted that she suffered any pain, even when directly questioned.
Indeed she was not uncomfortable during that splendid automobile ride
over mountain and plain into the paradise of the glowing West. Never
before in her life had Myrtle enjoyed an outing, except for an hour or
two in a city park; never before had she known a friend to care for
her and sympathize honestly with her griefs. Therefore this experience
was so exquisitely delightful that her responsive heart nearly burst
with gratitude. Pretty thoughts came to her that she had never had
before; her luxurious surroundings led her to acquire dainty ways and
a composed and self-poised demeanor.

"Our rosebud is unfolding, petal by petal, and beginning to bloom
gloriously," said Patsy to sympathetic Uncle John. "Could anyone be
more sweet or lovely?"

Perhaps almost any girl, situated as Myrtle Dean was, would have
blossomed under similar influences. Certain it was that Uncle John
came to have a tender affection for the poor child, while the Major's
big heart had warmed from the first toward the injured girl. Beth and
Patsy were devoted to their new friend and even Mumbles was never so
happy as when Myrtle would hold and caress him. Naturally the former
waif responded freely to all this wealth of affection and strove to be
companionable and cheery, that they might forget as much as possible
her physical helplessness.

Mumbles was not the least important member of the party, but proved
a constant source of amusement to all. In the novel domains they now
traversed the small dog's excitable nature led him to investigate
everything that seemed suspicious, but he was so cowardly, in spite of
this, that once when Patsy let him down to chase a gopher or prairie
dog--they were not sure which--the animal turned at bay and sent
Mumbles retreating with his stubby tail between his legs. His
comradeship for Wampus surprised them all. The Canadian would talk
seriously to the dog and tell it long stories as if the creature could
understand every word--which perhaps he did. Mumbles would sit up
between the driver and Patsy and listen attentively, which encouraged
Wampus to talk until Patsy in self-defense turned and tossed the fuzzy
animal in to Myrtle, who was always glad to receive him.

But Patsy did not always sit on the front seat. That honor was divided
among them all, by turns, except the Major, who did not care for the
place. Yet I think Patsy rode there oftener than anyone else, and it
came to be considered her special privilege because she had first
claimed it.

The Major, after the incident at Gallup, did not scorn Wampus so
openly as before; but he still reserved a suspicion that the fellow
was at heart a coward and a blusterer. The chauffeur's sole demerit in
the eyes of the others was his tremendous egotism. The proud remark:
"I am Wampus!" was constantly on his lips and he had wonderful tales
to tell to all who would listen of his past experiences, in every one
of which he unblushingly figured as the hero. But he really handled
the big touring car in an admirable manner, and when one afternoon
a tire was punctured by a cactus spine by the roadside--their first
accident--they could not fail to admire the dexterous manner in which
he changed the tube for a new one.

From Gallup they took a wagon road to Fort Defiance, in the Navajo
Indian reservation; but the Navajos proved uninteresting people, not
even occupying themselves in weaving the famous Navajo blankets, which
are now mostly made in Philadelphia. Even Patsy, who had longed to
"see the Indians in their native haunts," was disgusted by their filth
and laziness, and the party expected no better results when they came
to the adjoining Moki reservation. Here, however, they were happily
disappointed, for they arrived at the pueblo of Oraibi, one of
the prettiest villages on the mesa, on the eve of one of their
characteristic snake dances, and decided to remain over night and
see the performance. Now I am not sure but the "Snake Dance" was so
opportune because Uncle John had a private interview with the native
chieftain, at which the head Snake Priest and the head Antelope Priest
of the tribe were present. These Indians spoke excellent English and
the chief loved the white man's money, so a ceremony that has been
held during the month of August for many centuries--long before the
Spanish conquistadors found this interesting tribe--was found to be on
tap for that very evening. The girls were tremendously excited at the
prospect and Wampus was ordered to prepare camp for the night--the
first they had spent in their automobile and away from a hotel. Not
only was the interior of the roomy limousine converted into sleeping
quarters for the three girls, but a tent was spread, one side fastened
to the car while the other was staked to the ground. Three wire
folding cots came from some hidden place beneath the false bottom of
the car, with bedding enough to supply them, and these were for the
use of the men in the tent. The two "bedrooms" having been thus
prepared, Wampus lighted the tiny gasoline stove, over which Patsy and
Beth enthusiastically cooked the supper. Beth wanted to "Newburg" the
tinned lobster, and succeeded in creaming it very nicely. They had
potato chips, coffee and toasted Holland rusks, as well, and all
thoroughly enjoyed the improvised meal.

Their camp had been pitched just at the outskirts of the Indian
village, but the snake dance was to take place in a rocky glen some
distance away from the pueblo and so Uncle John instructed Wampus to
remain and guard their outfit, as the Moki are notorious thieves. They
left the lean little chauffeur perched upon the driver's seat, smoking
one of his "stogie" cigars and with Mumbles sitting gravely beside
him.

Myrtle hobbled on her crutches between Beth and Patsy, who carried
little tin lanterns made with lamp chimneys that had candles inside
them. They first visited the chief, who announced that the ceremonies
were about to begin. At a word from this imposing leader a big Indian
caught up Myrtle and easily carried her on his shoulder, as if she
were light as a feather, leading the way to the rocky amphitheatre.
Here were assembled all the inhabitants of the village, forming a wide
circle around the performers. The snakes were in a pit dug in the
center of the space, over which a few branches had been placed. This
is called the "kisi."

These unique and horrifying snake dances of the Moki have been
described so often that I need not speak of this performance in
detail. Before it was half over the girls wished they were back in
their automobile; but the Major whispered that for them to leave would
cause great offense to the Indians and might result in trouble. The
dance is supposedly a religious one, in honor of the Rain God, and at
first the snakes were not used, but as the dancers became wrought up
and excited by their antics one by one they reached within the kisi
and drew out a snake, allowing the reptiles to coil around their
almost naked bodies and handling them with seeming impunity. A few
were harmless species, as bull snakes and arrow snakes; but mostly the
Moki used rattlesnakes, which are native to the mesa and its rocky
cliffs. Some travelers have claimed that the fangs of the rattlers are
secretly withdrawn before the creatures are handled, but this has been
proved to be untrue. The most accepted theory is that the snakes are
never permitted to coil, and cannot strike unless coiled, while the
weird chanting and graceful undulating motions of the dancers in some
manner "charms" or intoxicates the serpents, which are not aroused to
antagonism. Occasionally, however, one of the Moki priests is bitten,
in which case nothing is done to aid him and he is permitted to die,
it being considered a judgment of the Rain God for some sin he has
committed.

The barbaric rites seemed more picturesque, as well as more revolting,
in that they took place by the flickering light of torches and
bonfires in a rock strewn plain usually claimed by nature. When the
dancers were more frenzied they held the squirming serpents in their
mouths by the middle and allowed them to coil around their necks,
dancing wildly the while. The whole affair was so nauseating and
offensive that as soon as it was possible the visitors withdrew and
retired to their "camp." It was now almost midnight, but the path was
lighted by the little lanterns they carried.

As they approached the automobile Uncle John was disturbed not to see
Wampus at his post. A light showed from the front of the car, but the
chauffeur seemed to be missing. Coming nearer, however, they soon
were greeted by a joyous barking from Mumbles and discovered Wampus
squatting upon the ground, puffing at the small end of the cigar and
seeming quite composed and tranquil.

"What are you doing there?" demanded the Major, raising his lantern
the better to light the scene.

"I play jailer," grunted Wampus, without moving. "Him want to steal;
Mumble he make bark noise; for me, I steal too--I steal Injun."

A dusky form, prone upon the ground, began to squirm under Wampus, who
was then discovered to be sitting upon a big Indian and holding him
prisoner. The chauffeur, partly an Indian himself, knew well how to
manage his captive and quieted the fellow by squeezing his throat with
his broad stubby fingers.

"How long have you had him there?" inquired Uncle John, looking at the
discomfited "brave" curiously.

"About an hour," was the reply.

"Let him go, then. We have no prison handy, and the man has perhaps
been punished enough."

"I have wait to ask permission to kill him," said Wampus solemnly. "He
know English talk, an' I have told him he is to die. I have describe,
sir, several torture we make on Injun who steal, which make him think
he die several time. So he is now prepare for the worst."

The Indiam squirmed again, and with a sigh Wampus arose and set him
free.

"See," he said; "you are save only by mercy of Great White Chief. You
ver' lucky Injun. But Great White Chief will leave only one eye here
when he go away. If you try to steal again the eye will see, an' then
the torture I have describe will be yours. I am Wampus. I have spoke."

The Indian listened intently and then slunk away into the darkness
without reply. The night had no further event and in spite of their
unusual experiences all slept excellently and awoke in the morning
refreshed and ready for new adventures.




CHAPTER IX

NATURE'S MASTERPIECE


From the reservation to the Grand Canyon of the Colorado was not far,
but there was no "crosscut" and so they were obliged to make a wide
detour nearly to Williams before striking the road that wound upward
to the world's greatest wonder.

Slowly and tediously the big car climbed the miserable trail to the
rim of the Grand Canyon. It was night when they arrived, for they had
timed it that way, having been told of the marvelous beauty of the
canyon by moonlight. But unfortunately the sky filled with clouds
toward evening, and they came to Bright Angel, their destination, in a
drizzling rain and total darkness. The Major was fearful Wampus might
run them into the canyon, but the machine's powerful searchlights
showed the way clearly and by sticking to the road they finally drew
up before an imposing hotel such as you might wonder to find in so
remote a spot.

Eagerly enough they escaped from the automobile where they had been
shut in and entered the spacious lobby of the hotel, where a merry
throng of tourists had gathered.

"Dinner and bed," said Patsy, decidedly. "I'm all tired out, and poor
Myrtle is worn to a frazzle. There's no chance of seeing the canyon
to-night, and as for the dancing, card playing and promiscuous gaiety,
it doesn't appeal much to a weary traveler."

The girls were shown to a big room at the front of the hotel, having
two beds in it. A smaller connecting-room was given to Myrtle, while
Patsy and Beth shared the larger apartment. It seems the hotel, big
as it was, was fairly filled with guests, the railway running three
trains a day to the wonderful canyon; but Uncle John's nieces did
not mind occupying the same room, which was comfortably and even
luxuriously furnished.

A noise of footsteps along the corridor disturbed Patsy at an early
hour. She opened her eyes to find the room dimly lighted, as by the
first streaks of dawn, and sleepily arose to raise the window shade
and see if day was breaking. Her hand still upraised to guide the
shade the girl stood as motionless as if turned to stone. With a long
drawn, gasping breath she cried: "Oh, Beth!" and then stood staring at
what is undoubtedly the most entrancing, the most awe inspiring and at
the same time the most magnificent spectacle that mortal eye has ever
beheld--sunrise above the Grand Canyon of Arizona.

The master painters of the world have gathered in this spot in a vain
attempt to transfer the wondrous coloring of the canyon to canvas.
Authors famed for their eloquent command of language have striven as
vainly to tell to others what their own eyes have seen; how their
senses have been thrilled and their souls uplifted by the marvel that
God's hand has wrought. It can never be pictured. It can never be
described. Only those who have stood as Patricia Doyle stood that
morning and viewed the sublime masterpiece of Nature can realize what
those homely words, "The Grand Canyon" mean. Grand? It is well named.
Since no other adjective can better describe it, that much abused one
may well be accepted to incompletely serve its purpose.

Beth joined her cousin at the window and was instantly as awed
and absorbed as Patsy. Neither remembered Myrtle just then, but
fortunately their friend had left the connecting door of their
rooms ajar and hearing them stirring came in to see if anything had
happened. She found the two cousins staring intently from the window
and went to the second window herself, thus witnessing the spectacle
in all its glory.

Even after the magnificent coloring of sunrise had faded the sight was
one to rivet the attention. The hotel seemed built at the very edge of
the canyon, and at their feet the ground appeared to fall away and a
great gulf yawned that was tinted on all its diverse sides with hues
that rivaled those of the rainbow. Across the chasm they could clearly
see the trees and hills; yet these were fully thirteen miles distant,
for here is one of the widest portions of the great abyss.

"I'm going to dress," said Beth, breaking the silence at last. "It
seems a sin to stay cooped up in here when such a glorious panorama is
at one's feet."

The others did not reply in words, but they all began to dress
together with nervous haste, and then made their way down to the
canyon's brink. Others were before them, standing upon the ample
porches in interested groups; but such idleness would not content our
girls, who trooped away for a more intimate acquaintance with the
wonderful gorge.

"Oh, how small--how terribly small--I am!" cried Patsy, lost in
the immensity of the canyon's extent; but this is a common cry of
travelers visiting Bright Angel. You might place a baker's dozen of
the huge Falls of Niagara in the Grand Canyon and scarcely notice they
were there. All the vast cathedrals of Europe set upon its plateau
would seem like pebbles when viewed from the brink. The thing is
simply incomprehensible to those who have not seen it.

Presently Uncle John and the Major came out to join them and they all
wandered along the edge until they came to a huge rock that jutted
out far over the monster gulf. On the furthermost point of this rock,
standing with his feet at the very brink, was a tall, thin man, his
back toward them. It seemed a fearful thing to do--to stand where the
slightest slip would send him reeling into the abyss.

"It's like tempting fate," whispered Patsy, a safe distance away. "I
wish he would step back a little."

As if he had overheard her the man half turned and calmly examined the
group. His eyes were an almost colorless blue, his features destitute
of any expression. By his dress he seemed well-to-do, if not
prosperous, yet there was a hint of melancholy in his poise and about
him a definite atmosphere of loneliness.

After that one deliberate look he turned again and faced the canyon,
paying no attention to the interested little party that hovered far
enough from the edge to avoid any possible danger.

"Oh, dear!" whispered Myrtle, clinging to Beth's arm with trembling
fingers, "I'm afraid he's going to--to commit suicide!"

"Nonsense!" answered Beth, turning pale nevertheless.

The figure was motionless as before. Uncle John and the Major started
along the path but as Beth attempted to follow them Myrtle broke away
from her and hobbled eagerly on her crutches toward the stranger. She
did not go quite to the end of the jutting rock, but stopped some feet
away and called in a low, intense voice:

"Don't!"

The man turned again, with no more expression in his eyes or face than
before. He looked at Myrtle steadily a moment, then turned and slowly
left the edge, walking to firm ground and back toward the hotel
without another glance at the girl.

"I'm so ashamed," said Myrtle, tears of vexation in her eyes as she
rejoined her friends. "But somehow I felt I must warn him--it was an
impulse I just couldn't resist."

"Why, no harm resulted, in any event, my dear," returned Beth. "I
wouldn't think of it again."

They took so long a walk that all were nearly famished when they
returned to the hotel for breakfast.

Of course Patsy and Beth wanted to go down Bright Angel Trail into the
depths of the canyon, for that is the thing all adventurous spirits
love to do.

"I'm too fat for such foolishness," said Uncle John, "so I'll stay up
here and amuse Myrtle."

The Major decided to go, to "look after our Patsy;" so the three
joined the long line of daring tourists and being mounted on docile,
sure-footed burros, followed the guide down the trail.

Myrtle and Uncle John spent the morning on the porch of the hotel. At
breakfast the girl had noticed the tall man they had encountered at
the canyon's edge quietly engaged in eating at a small table in a far
corner of the great dining room. During the forenoon he came from the
hotel to the porch and for a time stood looking far away over the
canyon.

Aroused to sympathy by the loneliness of this silent person, Uncle
John left his chair and stood beside him at the railing.

"It's a wonderful sight, sir," he remarked in his brisk, sociable way;
"wonderful indeed!"

For a moment there was no reply.

"It seems to call one," said the man at length, as if to himself. "It
calls one."

"It's a wonder to me it doesn't call more people to see it," observed
Mr. Merrick, cheerfully. "Think of this magnificent thing--greater and
grander than anything the Old World can show, being here right in the
heart of America, almost--and so few rush to see it! Why, in time to
come, sir," he added enthusiastically, "not to have seen the Grand
Canyon of Arizona will be an admission of inferiority. It's--it's the
biggest thing in all the world!"

The stranger made no reply. He had not even glanced at Uncle John. Now
he slowly turned and stared fixedly at Myrtle for a moment, till she
cast down her eyes, blushing. Then he re-entered the hotel; nor was he
again seen by them.

The little man was indignant at the snub. Rejoining Myrtle he said to
her:

"That fellow wasn't worth saving--if you really saved him, my dear. He
says the canyon calls one, and for all I care he may go to the bottom
by any route he pleases."

Which speech showed that gentle, kindly Mr. Merrick was really
annoyed. But a moment later he was all smiles again and Myrtle found
him a delightful companion because he knew so well how to read
people's thoughts, and if they were sad had a tactful way of cheering
them.

The girls and the Major returned from their trip to the plateau full
of rapture at their unique experiences.

"I wouldn't have missed it for a million dollars!" cried the Major;
but he added: "and you couldn't hire me to go again for two million!"

"It was great," said Patsy; "but I'm tuckered out."

"I had nineteen narrow escapes from sudden death," began Beth, but her
cousin interrupted her by saying: "So had everyone in the party;
and if the canyon had caved in we'd all be dead long ago. Stop your
chattering now and get ready for dinner. I'm nearly starved."

Next morning they took a farewell view of the beautiful scene and then
climbed into their automobile to continue their journey. Many of the
tourists had wondered at their temerity in making such a long trip
through a poorly settled country in a motor car and had plied them
with questions and warnings. But they were thoroughly enjoying this
outing and nothing very disagreeable had happened to them so far. I am
sure that on this bright, glorious morning you could not have hired
any one of the party to abandon the automobile and finish the trip by
train.




CHAPTER X

A COYOTE SERENADE


The roads were bad enough. They were especially bad west of Williams.
Just now an association of automobile tourists has been formed to
create a boulevard route through from the Atlantic to the Pacific
coast, but at the time of this story no attention had been given the
roads of the far West and only the paths of the rancheros from town to
town served as guides. On leaving Williams they turned south so as to
avoid the more severe mountain roads, and a fine run through a rather
uninteresting country brought them to Prescott on the eve of the
second day after leaving the Canyon. Here they decided to take a day's
rest, as it was Sunday and the hotel was comfortable; but Monday
morning they renewed their journey and headed southwesterly across the
alkali plains--called "mesa"--for Parker, on the boundary line between
Arizona and California.

Towns of any sort were very scarce in this section and the country was
wild and often barren of vegetation for long stretches. There were
some extensive ranches, however, as this is the section favored for
settlement by a class of Englishmen called "remittance men." These are
mostly the "black sheep" or outcasts of titled families, who having
got into trouble of some sort at home, are sent to America to isolate
themselves on western ranches, where they receive monthly or quarterly
remittances of money to support them. The remittance men are poor
farmers, as a rule. They are idle and lazy except when it comes to
riding, hunting and similar sports. Their greatest industry is cattle
raising, yet these foreign born "cowboys" constitute an entirely
different class from those of American extraction, found in Texas and
on the plains of the Central West. They are educated and to an extent
cultured, being "gentlemen born" but sad backsliders in the practise
of the profession. Because other ranchers hesitate to associate with
them they congregate in settlements of their own, and here in Arizona,
on the banks of the Bill Williams Branch of the Colorado River, they
form almost the total population.

Our friends had hoped to make the little town of Gerton for the night,
but the road was so bad that Wampus was obliged to drive slowly and
carefully, and so could not make very good time. Accidents began
to happen, too, doubtless clue to the hard usage the machine had
received. First a spring broke, and Wampus was obliged to halt long
enough to clamp it together with stout steel braces. An hour later the
front tire was punctured by cactus spines, which were thick upon the
road. Such delays seriously interfered with their day's mileage.

Toward sunset Uncle John figured, from the information he had received
at Prescott, that they were yet thirty miles from Gerton, and so he
decided to halt and make camp while there was yet sufficient daylight
remaining to do so conveniently.

"We might hunt for a ranch house and beg for shelter," said he, "but
from the stories I've heard of the remittance men I am sure we will
enjoy ourselves better if we rely entirely upon our own resources."

The girls were, of course, delighted at the prospect of such an
experience, for the silent, solitary mesa made them feel they were
indeed "in the wilds of the Great American Desert." The afternoon had
been hot and the ride dusty, but there was now a cooler feeling in the
air since the sun had fallen low in the horizon.

They carried their own drinking water, kept ice-cold in thermos
bottles, and Uncle John also had a thermos tub filled with small
squares of ice. This luxury, in connection with their ample supply
of provisions, enabled the young women to prepare a supper not to be
surpassed in any modern hotel. The soup came from one can, the curried
chicken from another, while artichokes, peas, asparagus and plum
pudding shed their tin coverings to complete the meal. Fruits, cheese
and biscuits they had in abundance, so there was no hardship in
camping out on a deserted Arizona table-land, as far as food was
concerned. The Interior of the limousine, when made into berths for
the three girls, was as safe and cosy as a Pullman sleeping coach.
Only the men's quarters, the "lean-to" tent, was in any way open to
invasion.

After the meal was ended and the things washed and put away they all
sat on folding camp chairs outside the little tent and enjoyed the
intense silence surrounding them. The twilight gradually deepened into
darkness. Wampus kept one of the searchlights lit to add an element of
cheerfulness to the scene, and Myrtle was prevailed upon to sing one
or two of her simple songs. She had a clear, sweet voice, although not
a strong one, and they all--especially Uncle John--loved to hear her
sing.

Afterward they talked over their trip and the anticipated change from
this arid region to the verdure of California, until suddenly a long,
bloodcurdling howl broke the stillness and caused them one and all
to start from their seats. That is, all but Wampus. The chauffeur,
sitting apart with his black cigar in his mouth, merely nodded and
said: "Coyote."

The Major coughed and resumed his seat. Uncle John stood looking into
the darkness as if trying to discern the creature.

"Are coyotes considered dangerous?" he asked the Canadian.

"Not to us," replied Wampus. "Sometime, if one man be out on mesa
alone, an' plenty coyote come, he have hard fight for life. Coyote is
wild dog. He is big coward unless pretty hungry. If I leave light burn
he never come near us."

"Then let it burn--all night," said Mr. Merrick. "There he goes
again--and another with him! What a horrible wail it is."

"I rather like it," said Patsy, with her accustomed calmness. "It is
certainly an added experience to be surrounded by coyotes. Probably
our trip wouldn't have been complete without it."

"A little of that serenade will suffice me," admitted Beth, as the
howls grew nearer and redoubled in volume.

Myrtle's eyes were big and earnest. She was not afraid, but there was
something uncanny in being surrounded by such savage creatures.

Nearer and nearer sounded the howls, until it was easy to see a dozen
fierce eyes gleaming in the darkness, not a stone's throw away from
the camp.

"I guess you girls had better go to bed," remarked Uncle John, a bit
nervously. "There's no danger, you know--none at all. Let the brutes
howl, if they want to--especially as we can't stop them. But you are
tired, my dears, and I'd like to see you settled for the night."

Somewhat reluctantly they entered the limousine, drew the curtains and
prepared for bed. Certainly they were having a novel experience, and
if Uncle John would feel easier to have them listen to the howling
coyotes from inside the limousine instead of outside, they could not
well object to his request.

Presently Wampus asked the Major for his revolver, and on obtaining
the weapon he walked a few paces toward the coyotes and fired a shot
into their group. They instantly scattered and made off, only to
return in a few moments to their former position.

"Will they continue this Grand Opera chorus all night?" asked Uncle
John.

"Perhap," said Wampus. "They hungry, an' smell food. Coyote can no
reason. If he could, he know ver' well we never feed him."

"The next time we come this way let us fetch along a ton or so of
coyote feed," suggested the Major. "I wonder what the poor brutes
would think if they were stuffed full for once in their lives?"

"It have never happen, sir," observed Wampus, shaking his head
gravely. "Coyote all born hungry; he live hungry; he die hungry. If
ever coyote was not hungry he would not be coyote."

"In that case, Major," said Uncle John, "let us go to bed and try to
sleep. Perhaps in slumber we may forget these howling fiends."

"Very well," agreed Major Doyle, rising to enter the little tent.

Wampus unexpectedly interposed. "Wait," called the little chauffeur.
"Jus' a minute, if you please."

While the Major and Mr. Merrick stood wondering at the request, the
Canadian, who was still holding the revolver in one hand, picked a
steel rod from the rumble of the automobile and pushing aside the flap
of the little tent entered. The tail-lamp of the car burned inside,
dimly lighting the place.

The Major was about to follow Wampus when a revolver shot arrested
him. This sound was followed by a quick thumping against the ground of
the steel bar, and then Wampus emerged from the tent holding a dark,
squirming object on the end of the rod extended before him.

"What is it?" asked Mr. Merrick, somewhat startled.

"Rattlesnake," said Wampus, tossing the thing into the sagebrush. "I
see him crawl in tent while you eat supper."

"Why did you not tell us?" cried the Major excitedly.

"I thought him perhaps crawl out again. Him sometime do that. But no.
Mister snake he go sleep in tent which is reserve for his superior. I
say nothing, for I do not wish to alarm the young ladies. That is why
I hold the dog Mumble so tight, for he small eye see snake too, an'
fool dog wish to go fight him. Rattlesnake soon eat Mumble up--eh? But
never mind; there is no worry. I am Wampus, an' I am here. You go to
bed now, an' sleep an' be safe."

He said this rather ostentatiously, and for that reason neither of the
others praised his watchful care or his really brave act. That Wampus
was proving himself a capable and faithful servant even the Major was
forced to admit, yet the man's bombast and self-praise robbed him of
any word of commendation he justly earned.

"I think," said Uncle John, "I'll bunk on the front seat to-night. I'm
short, you see, and will just about curl up in the space. I believe
snakes do not climb up wheels. Make my bed on the front seat, Wampus."

The man grinned but readily obeyed. The Major watched him
thoughtfully.

"For my part," he said, "I'll have a bed made on top the roof."

"Pshaw!" said Uncle John; "you'll scratch the paint."

"That is a matter of indifference to me," returned the Major.

"You'll roll off, in your sleep, and hurt yourself."

"I'll risk that, sir."

"Are you afraid, Major?"

"Afraid! Me? Not when I'm awake, John. But what's to prevent more of
those vermin from crawling into the tent during the night?"

"Such thing very unusual." remarked Wampus, placing the last blanket
on Mr. Merrick's improvised bed. "Perhaps you sleep in tent a week an'
never see another rattler."

"Just the same," concluded the Major, "I'll have my bed on top the
limousine."

He did, Wampus placing blankets and a pillow for him without a word of
protest. The Major climbed over Uncle John and mounted to the roof of
the car, which sloped to either side but was broad and long enough
to accommodate more than one sleeper. Being an old campaigner and a
shrewd tactician, Major Doyle made two blankets into rolls, which he
placed on either side of him, to "anchor" his body in position. Then
he settled himself to rest beneath the brilliant stars while the
coyotes maintained their dismal howling. But a tired man soon becomes
insensible to even such annoyances.

The girls, having entered the limousine from the door opposite the
tent, were all unaware of the rattlesnake episode and supposed the
shot had been directed against the coyotes. They heard the Major
climbing upon the roof, but did not demand any explanation, being deep
in those bedtime confidences so dear to all girls. Even they came
to disregard the persistent howls of the coyotes, and in time fell
asleep.

Wampus did not seem afraid of snakes. The little chauffeur went to bed
in the tent and slept soundly upon his cot until daybreak, when the
coyotes withdrew and the Canadian got up to make the coffee.

The Major peered over the edge of the roof to watch him. He had a
sleepy look about his eyes, as if he had not rested well. Uncle John
was snoring with gentle regularity and the girls were still asleep.

"Wampus," said the Major, "do you know the proper definition of a
fool?"

Wampus reflected, stirring the coffee carefully.

"I am not--what you call him?--a dictionairre; no. But I am Wampus. I
have live much in very few year. I would say a fool is man who think
he is wise. For what is wise? Nothing!"

The Major felt comforted.

"It occurred to me," he said, beginning to climb down from the roof,
"that a fool was a man who left a good home for this uncomfortable
life on a barren desert. This country wasn't made for humans; it
belongs to the coyotes and the rattlesnakes. What right have we to
intrude upon them, then?"

Wampus did not reply. It was not his business to criticise his
employers.




CHAPTER XI

A REAL ADVENTURE AT LAST


Uncle John woke up when the Major inadvertently placed a heel upon his
round stomach on the way to the ground. The chubby little millionaire
had slept excellently and was in a genial humor this morning. He
helped Wampus fry the bacon and scramble the eggs, while the Major
called the girls.

It proved a glorious sunrise and the air was full of pure ozone. They
had suffered little from cold during the trip, although it was in
the dead of winter and the altitude considerable. Just now they were
getting closer to California every hour, and when they descended from
the mesa it would gradually grow warmer.

They were all becoming expert at "breaking camp," and preparing for
the road. Beth and Patsy put away the bedding and "made up" the
interior of the limousine for traveling. The Major and Uncle John
folded the tent and packed it away, while Wampus attended to the
dishes and tinware and then looked over his car. In a surprisingly
short time they were all aboard and the big machine was gliding over
the faint trail.

The mesa was not a flat or level country, for they were still near to
the mountain ranges. The way was up hill and down, in gentle slopes,
and soon after starting they breasted the brow of a hill and were
confronted by half a dozen mounted men, who seemed as much astonished
at the encounter as they were.

It being an event to meet anyone in this desolate place Wampus
involuntarily brought the car to a halt, while the riders lined up
beside it and stared rather rudely at the party. They were dressed as
cowboys usually are, with flannel shirts, chapelets and sombrero hats;
but their faces were not rugged nor healthy, as is the case with most
Western cowboys, but bore marks of dissipation and hard living.

"Remittance men," whispered Wampus.

Uncle John nodded. He had heard of this curious class. Especially were
the men staring at the three pretty, feminine faces that peered from
the interior of the limousine. They had remained silent thus far, but
now one of them, a fellow with dark eyes and a sallow complexion,
reined his horse nearer the car and removed his hat with a sweeping
gesture that was not ungraceful.

"A merry morning to you, fair ladies--or angels--I much misdoubt which
we have chanced upon. Anyhow, welcome to Hades!"

Uncle John frowned. He did not like the bantering, impudent tone. Beth
flushed and turned aside her head; Myrtle shrank back in her corner
out of sight; but Patsy glared fixedly at the speaker with an
expression that was far from gracious. The remittance man did not seem
daunted by this decided aversion. A sneering laugh broke from his
companions, and one of them cried:

"Back up, Algy, and give your betters a chance. You're out of it, old
man."

"I have no betters," he retorted. Then, turning to the girls again and
ignoring the presence of the men accompanying them, he continued:

"Beauteous visions, since you have wilfully invaded the territory of
Hades Ranch, of which diabolical domain I, Algernon Tobey, am by grace
of his Satanic majesty the master, I invite you to become my guests
and participate in a grand ball which I shall give this evening in
your honor."

His comrades laughed again, and one of them shouted:

"Good for you, Algy. A dance--that's the thing!"

"Why, we haven't had the chance of a dance for ages," said another
approvingly.

"Because we have had no ladies to dance with," explained Algy. "But
here are three come to our rescue--perhaps more, if I could see inside
that barricade--and they cannot refuse us the pleasure of their
society."

"Sir," said Major Doyle, stiffly, "you are pleased to be impertinent.
Ride on, you rascals, and spare us further sight of you."

The man turned upon him a scowling face.

"Don't interfere," he said warningly. "This isn't your party, you old
duffer!"

"Drive ahead, Wampus," commanded Uncle John.

Wampus had to get out and crank the engines, which he calmly proceeded
to do. The man who had called himself Algernon Tobey perceived his
intention and urged his pony to the front of the car.

"Let that thing alone. Keep your hands off!" he said.

Wampus paid no attention. The fellow brought his riding whip down
sharply on the chauffeur's shoulders, inflicting a stinging blow.
Instantly little Wampus straightened up, grasped Tobey by the leg
and with a swift, skillful motion jerked him from his horse. The man
started to draw his revolver, but in an instant he and Wampus were
rolling together upon the ground and the Canadian presently came
uppermost and held his antagonist firmly between his knees. Then
with deliberation he raised his clinched fist and thrust it forcibly
against Mr. Tobey's eye, repeating the impact upon his nose, his chin
and his cheek in a succession of jarring thumps that were delivered
with scientific precision. Algy fairly howled, kicking and struggling
to be free. None of his comrades offered to interfere and it seemed
they were grimly enjoying the punishment that was being; inflicted
upon their leader.

When Wampus had quite finished his work he arose, adjusted his
disarranged collar and tie and proceeded to crank the engines. Then he
climbed into his seat and started the car with a sudden bound. As he
did so a revolver shot rang out and one of the front tires, pierced by
the bullet, ripped itself nearly in two as it crumpled up. A shout of
derisive laughter came from the cowboys. Algy was astride his pony
again, and as Wampus brought the damaged car to a stop the remittance
men dashed by and along the path, taking the same direction Uncle
John's party was following". Tobey held back a little, calling out:

"Au revoir! I shall expect you all at my party. I'm going now to get
the fiddler."

He rejoined his comrades then, and they all clattered away until a
roll of the mesa hid them from sight.

Uncle John got down from his seat to assist his chauffeur.

"Thank you, Wampus," he said. "Perhaps you should have killed him
while you had the opportunity; but you did very well."

Wampus was wrestling with the tire.

"I have never start a private graveyard," he replied, "for reason I
am afraid to hurt anyone. But I am Wampus. If Mister Algy he dance
to-night, somebody mus' lead him, for he will be blind."

"I never met such a lawless brood in my life," prowled the Major,
indignantly. "If they were in New York they'd be put behind the bars
in two minutes."

"But they are in Arizona--in the wilderness," said Uncle John gravely.
"If there are laws here such people do not respect them."

It took a long time to set the new tire and inflate it, for the outer
tube was torn so badly that an extra one had to be substituted. But
finally the task was accomplished and once more they renewed their
journey.

Now that they were alone with their friends the girls were excitedly
gossiping over the encounter.

"Do you really suppose we are on that man's ground--his ranch, as he
calls it?" asked Myrtle, half fearfully.

"Why, I suppose someone owns all this ground, barren as it is,"
replied Patsy. "But we are following a regular road--not a very good
one, nor much traveled; but a road, nevertheless--and any road is
public property and open for the use of travelers."

"Perhaps we shall pass by their ranch house," suggested Beth.

"If we do," Uncle John answered, "I'll have Wampus put on full speed.
Even their wild ponies can't follow us then, and if they try shooting
up the tires again they are quite likely to miss as we spin by."

"Isn't there any other road?" the Major asked.

Wampus shook his head.

"I have never come jus' this same route before," he admitted; "but I
make good friend in Prescott, who know all Arizona blindfold. Him say
this is nice, easy road and we cannot get lost for a good reason--the
reason there is no other road at all--only this one."

"Did your friend say anything about Hades Ranch?" continued the
questioner.

"He say remittance man make much mischief if he can; but he one
foreign coward, drunk most time an' when sober weak like my aunt's
tea. He say don't let r