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THE DUCK HUNT
(_See page 168_)]
The Little Colonel in Arizona
By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
Author of "The Little Colonel Series," "Big Brother," "Ole Mammy's Torment," "Joel: A Boy of Galilee," "Asa Holmes," etc.
Illustrated by ETHELDRED B. BARRY
BOSTON * L. C. PAGE & COMPANY * PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1904_ BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Published September, 1904
_Ninth Impression, March, 1908_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. MARY TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS 1 II. A ROBINSON CRUSOE OF THE DESERT 19 III. A DAY AT SCHOOL 38 IV. WARE'S WIGWAM 56 V. WHAT A LETTER BROUGHT ABOUT 78 VI. WASH-DAY AND WASHINGTON 94 VII. A SURPRISE 116 VIII. IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 137 IX. LLOYD'S DUCK HUNT 162 X. THE SCHOOL OF THE BEES 179 XI. THE NEW BOARDER AT LEE'S RANCH 193 XII. PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 212 XIII. A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 231 XIV. THE LOST TURQUOISES 253 XV. LOST ON THE DESERT 272 XVI. BACK TO DIXIE 293
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE THE DUCK HUNT (_See page 168_) _Frontispiece_ "SHE PROCEEDED WITH A JOYFUL HEART TO PAINT THE AFRICAN LION" 51 "'WE ALLEE SAMEE LAK CHINAMEN,' HE SAID" 94 "'I THOUGHT WE'D NEVAH, NEVAH GET HEAH!'" 128 "ENJOYING EVERY MOMENT OF THE SUNNY AFTERNOON" 162 "SHE LEANED OVER TO OFFER HIM THE LITTLE BASKET" 209 "HE WAS HOLDING OUT BOTH FOREFINGERS" 244 "CLATTERING DOWN THE ROAD AS FAST AS HIS FEET COULD CARRY HIM" 279
THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA
CHAPTER I.
MARY TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS
"JOYCE," said Jack Ware, stopping beside his sister's seat in the long,Western-bound train, "I wish you'd go back into the observation-car, andmake Mary stop talking. She's telling all she knows to a couple ofstrangers."
"Why don't you do it?" asked Joyce, looking up from her magazine with ateasing smile. "That dignified scowl of yours ought to frighten anythinginto silence."
"I did try it," confessed Jack. "I frowned and shook my head at her as Ipassed, but all the good it did was to start her to talking about _me_.'That's my brother Jack,' I heard her say, and her voice went throughthe car like a fine-pointed needle. 'Isn't he big for fourteen? He'sbeen wearing long trousers for nearly a year.' They both turned to lookat me, and everybody smiled, and I was so embarrassed that I fell allover myself getting out of sight. And it was a girl she said it to," hecontinued, wrathfully. "A real pretty girl, about my age. The fellowwith her is her brother, I reckon. They look enough alike. He's a cadetfrom some military school. You can tell by his uniform. They laugh ateverything that Mary says, and that makes her go on all the worse. So ifyou don't want them to know all our family history, past, present, andto come, you'd better go back and shut up that chatterbox. You know whatMary's like when she gets started."
"Yes, I know," sighed Joyce, "but I don't dare move now. Norman has justfallen asleep, and he's been so restless all day that I don't want himto waken until mamma has had her nap." She glanced down at the littlesix-year-old brother stretched out on the seat beside her with his headin her lap, and then across the aisle at her mother, lying with herwhite face hidden among the shawls and pillows.
"If I send for Mary to come back here, she'll flop around until shewakes them both. Can't you get her out on to the rear platform forawhile? I should think she would enjoy riding out there on one of thoselittle camp-stools. Slip one of those oranges into your pocket, andwhisper to her to follow you out and guess what you have for her."
"Well, I'll try," said Jack, dubiously, "but I'm almost sure she won'tbudge. It isn't every day she gets an audience like that. It flattersher to have them laugh at everything she says, and as sure as I stop andspeak to her she'll say something that I don't want to hear."
"Oh, never mind, then," said Joyce. "They are strangers, and probablywe'll never see them again, so it won't make any difference. Sit downhere and forget about them. You can have this magazine in a minute, justas soon as I finish reading this half-page."
But Jack did mind. He could not forget the amused glances that thepretty girl had exchanged with her big brother, and after standingirresolutely in the aisle a moment, he strolled back to theobservation-car. Slipping into a wicker chair near the door, he satwaiting for Mary to look in his direction, so that he could beckon herto come to him.
Half the passengers had gone to sleep and forgotten that they were beingwhirled across the great American Desert as fast as the limitedexpress-train could carry them. Some were reading, and some gazing outof the windows at the monotonous wastes of sand. The only ones whoreally seemed to be enjoying the journey were his small sister and heraudience of two. She sat on a footstool in the aisle, just in front ofthem, a box of candy in her lap, and a look of supreme satisfaction onher face. Two little braids of blond hair, tied with big bows of blueribbon, bobbed over her shoulders as she talked. Jack was too far awayto hear what she said, but his scowl deepened whenever the girlexchanged amused glances with her brother.
"This candy is almost as good as the fudge we used to make at home everySaturday afternoon," said Mary, putting a chocolate-covered marshmallowin her mouth, and gravely running her tongue around her lips. "But we'llnever again make any more fudge in that house."
"Why not, dear?" asked the girl, with encouraging interest. This childwas the most diverting thing she had found on the long journey.
"Oh, everything has come to an end now. Joyce says you can never go backwhen you've burned your bridges behind you. It was certainly burning ourbridges when we sold the little brown house, for of course we couldnever go back with strangers living in it. It was almost like a funeralwhen we started to the train, and looked back for the last time. Icried, because there was the Christmas-tree standing on the porch, withthe strings of popcorn and cranberries on it. We put it out for thebirds, you know, when we were done with it. When I saw how lonesome itlooked, standing out in the snow, and remembered that it was the lastChristmas-tree we'd ever have there, and that we didn't have a home anymore, why I guess _anybody_ would have cried."
"Why did you sell the little home if you loved it so?" asked the girl.It was not from any desire to pry into a stranger's affairs that sheasked, but merely to keep the child talking.
"Oh, mamma was so ill. She had pneumonia, and there are so manyblizzards in Kansas, you know, that the doctor said she'd never get ridof her cough if she stayed in Plainsville, and that maybe if we didn'tgo to a warm place she wouldn't live till spring. So Mr. Link bought thehouse the very next day, so that we could have enough money to go. He'sa lawyer. It used to be Link and Ware on the office door before papadied. He's always been good to us because he was papa's partner, and hegave Jack a perfectly grand gun when he found we were coming out amongthe Indians.
"Then the neighbours came in and helped us pack, and we left in a hurry.To-morrow we'll be to the place where we are going, and we'll begin tolive in tents on New Year's Day. You
'd never think this was the last dayof the old year, would you, it's so warm. I 'spose we'll be mixed up allthe time now about the calendar, coming to such a different climate."
There was a pause while another marshmallow disappeared, then sheprattled on again. "It's to Lee's Ranch we are going, out in Arizona.It's a sort of boarding-camp for sick people. Mrs. Lee keeps it. She'sour minister's sister, and he wrote to her, and she's going to take uscheaper than she does most people, because there's so many of us. Joyceand Jack and Holland and Norman and mamma and me makes an evenhalf-dozen. But we're going to keep house as soon as our things come andwe can get a place, and then I'll be glad that Jack has his gun. Hecan't shoot very well yet, unless it's at something big like a stabledoor, but you always feel safer, when there's Indians around, if you'vegot something to bang at them."
Here she lowered her voice confidentially. "Holland scared Norman andme most to death one night. We were sitting on the rug in front of thefire, before the lamp was lighted, saying what would we do s'posen anIndian should come to the camp sometime, and try to scalp us, and justwhen we were so scared we didn't dare look around behind us, he rolledout from under the bed where he'd been hiding, and grabbed us by thehair, with the awfullest whoop, that made us feel as if we'd been dippedin ice-water. Why, we didn't stop yelling for half an hour. Norman hadthe nightmare that night. We never did find out how Joyce punishedHolland, but what she did to him was plenty, for he hasn't scared ussince, not yet, though you never know when he's going to.
"Joyce isn't afraid of anything on earth. You ought to hear about theway she played ghost once, when she was in France. And she just talkedright up to the old monsieur who owned the Gate of the Giant Scissors,and told him what she thought of him."
"How old is this Joyce?" asked the tall young fellow whom his sistercalled Phil. "She sounds interesting, don't you think, Elsie?" he said,leaning over to help himself to a handful of candy.
Elsie nodded with a smile, and Mary hastened to give the desiredinformation. "Oh, she's fifteen, going on sixteen, and she _is_interesting. She can paint the loveliest pictures you ever saw. She wasgoing to be an artist until all this happened, and she had to leaveschool. Nobody but me knows how bad it made her feel to do that. I foundher crying in the stable-loft when I went up to say good-bye to theblack kitten, and she made me cross my heart and body I'd never tell, somamma thinks that she doesn't mind it at all.
"Things have gone wrong at our house ever since I had the mumps," shebegan again, when she had slowly crunched two burnt almonds. "Hollandsprained his wrist and mamma nearly died with pneumonia and Norman upsetthe clothes-horse on the stove and burnt up a whole week's ironing. Andafter that Jack had both ears frosted in a blizzard, and Bob, ourdarling little fox-terrier that Joyce brought from Kentucky, waspoisoned."
"That _was_ a list of misfortunes," exclaimed Phil, sympathetically,"enough to discourage anybody."
"Oh, at our house we never get discouraged to _stay_," answered Mary."Of course we feel that way at first, but Joyce always says 'Rememberthe Vicar,' and then we stiffen."
"The vicar," echoed Phil, much puzzled.
"Yes, the Vicar of Wakefield, you know. Don't you remember what bad luckthey all had, about the green spectacles and everything, and he said,'_Let us be inflexible, and fortune will at last change in ourfavour!_'"
"Was there ever anything funnier!" exclaimed Phil, in an aside, as thisbit of wisdom was rolled out with such a dramatic toss of the head, thatthe big blue bows on the little blond braids bobbed wildly. "The idea ofa child like that reading the 'Vicar of Wakefield.'"
"Oh, I didn't read him myself," answered Mary, eager to be entirelytruthful. "Joyce read it aloud to all the family last winter, and sincethen we've all tried to do as the Vicar did, be inflexible when troublescome. Even Norman knows that if you'll swallow your sobs and _stiffen_when you bump your head, or anything, that it doesn't hurt half so badas when you just let loose and howl."
Jack started to his feet when he heard the laugh that followed, surethat Mary was saying something that ought to be left unsaid. He reachedher just in time to hear her remark, "We're going to eat in thedining-car to-night. Our lunch has all given out, and I'm glad of it,for I never did eat in a dining-car, and I've always wanted to. We'regoing to have ice-cream, if it doesn't cost too much."
Jack's face was crimson as he bent down and whispered in Mary's ear, andit grew several shades redder as she calmly answered aloud, "No, I don'twant to go out on the platform. It's blowing so hard, I'll get my eyesfull of sand."
He bent again to whisper, this time savagely, and then turned backtoward the other car, not waiting for her answer. But it followed himshrilly in an indignant tone: "It's no such a thing, Jack Ware! I'm nottelling all I know."
A few minutes later a freckle-faced boy of twelve appeared in the door,looking up and down the car with keen gray eyes. The moment his glancefell on Mary, he started down the aisle toward her with such an air ofdetermination that she started up in dismay.
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "There's Holland beckoning for me. Now I'vegot to go."
"Why should you go for him rather than Jack?" asked Phil. "He isn'tnearly so big."
"You don't know Holland," said Mary, taking a step forward. "He doesn'tmind making a scene anywhere we happen to be. If he was told to bringme, he'd do it, if he had to drag me down the aisle by my hair.Good-bye. I've had a mighty nice time, and I'm much obliged for thecandy."
The Ware family were already seated in the dining-room when Phil andElsie went in to dinner a little later. Mary, over her soup, was givingan enthusiastic account of her new acquaintances. "They're going totheir grandfather's in California," she said. "It's the most beautifulplace you ever heard of, with goldfish in the fountain, and Gold ofOphir roses in the garden, and Dago, their old pet monkey, is there.They had to send him away from home because he got into so muchmischief. And Miss Elsie Tremont, that's her name, is all in blackbecause her Great-Aunt Patricia is dead. Her Aunt Patricia kept housefor them, but now they live at their grandfather's. Mr. Phil is onlyseventeen, but he's six feet tall, and looks so old that I thought maybehe was thirty."
"Gracious, Mary, how did you find out so much?" asked Joyce, with awarning shake of the head at Norman, who was crumbling his bread intohis soup.
"Oh, I asked him if he was married, and he laughed, and said he was onlyseventeen, just a schoolboy, a cadet in a military academy out inCalifornia. There they are now!" she added, excitedly, as the waiterpulled out two chairs at the little table across the aisle.
Both the newcomers smiled at Mary, who beamed broadly in response. Thenthey gave a quick side-glance at the rest of the family. "What asweet-looking woman the little mother is," said Elsie, in a low tone,"and Joyce _is_ interesting, but I wouldn't say she is exactly pretty,would you?"
"Um, I don't know," answered Phil, after another politely carelessglance in her direction. "She has a face you like to keep looking at.It's so bright and pleasant, and her eyes are lovely. She'd be jollygood company, I imagine, a sort of a surprise-party, always doing andsaying unusual things."
In the same casual way, Joyce was taking note of them. She felt stronglydrawn toward the pretty girl in black, and wished that they were goingto the same place, so that she might make her acquaintance. Once whenthey were all laughing at something Norman said, she looked up andcaught her eye, and they both smiled. Then Phil looked across with suchan understanding gleam of humour in his eyes that she almost smiled athim, but checked herself, and looked down in her plate, remembering thatthe handsome cadet was a stranger.
The train stopped at a junction just as Mary finished her ice-cream,which she had been eating as slowly as possible, in order to prolong thepleasure. Finding that there would be a wait of nearly half an hour,Joyce persuaded her mother to go back to the rear platform of theobservation-car, and sit out awhile, in the fresh air. Although the sunwas down, it was so warm that Mrs. Ware scarcely needed the shawl Joycedrew around her shoulders.
"I
can't believe that this is the last day of December," she said toMary, as Joyce hurried into the station to make some inquiry of theticket-agent. "The last day of the old year," she added. "Theseelectric-lights and the band playing over there in the park, and all thepassengers promenading up and down in front of the station, bareheaded,make it seem like a summer resort."
Mary peered after the promenading passengers wistfully. The boys haddisappeared to watch the engine take water, and there was no one for herto walk with. Just then, Phil and Elsie Tremont, sauntering along,caught sight of her wistful little face.
"Don't you want to come too?" asked Elsie, pausing. "You'll sleep betterfor a little exercise."
"Oh, yes!" was the delighted reply. "May I, mamma? It's Miss ElsieTremont, that I told you about, that ran away with a monkey and amusic-box when she was a little bit of a girl."
"I'm afraid that with such an introduction you'll think I'm not a properperson to trust your daughter with, Mrs. Ware," said Elsie, laughing,"but I assure you I'll never run away again. That experience quite curedme."
"Probably Mary has given you just as alarming an impression of us,"answered Mrs. Ware. "She has never learned to regard any one as astranger, and all the world is her friend to confide in."
"Wouldn't you like to walk a little while, too?" asked Elsie, stirred bysome faint memory of a delicate white face like this one, that years agoused to smile out at her from a hammock in the Gold of Ophir rosegarden. She was only five years old the last time she saw her mother,but the dim memory was a very sweet one.
"Yes, come! It will do you good," urged Phil, cordially, influencedpartly by the same memory, and partly by the thought that here was achance to make the acquaintance of Joyce as well. According to herlittle sister she was an unusually interesting girl, and the glimpse hehad had of her himself confirmed that opinion.
So it happened to Joyce's great astonishment, as she hurried back to thetrain, she met her mother walking slowly along beside Elsie. Phil, withMary chattering to him like an amusing little magpie, was just behindthem. Almost before she knew how it came about, she was walking withthem, listening first to Elsie, then to Phil, as they told of theboarding-school she was going back to in California, and the MilitaryAcademy in which he was a cadet. They had been back home to spend theChristmas vacation with their father, whom they did not expect to seeagain for a long time. He was a physician, and now on his way to Berlin,where he expected to spend a year or two in scientific research.
At the warning call of all aboard, they hurried back to the car just asthe boys came scrambling up the steps. Acquaintances grow almost asrapidly on these long overland journeys across the continent as they doon shipboard. The girls regretted the fact that they had not found eachother earlier, but Jack and Phil soon made up for lost time. Phil, whohad hunted wild goats among the rocks of Catalina Island, and Jack, whoexpected unlimited shooting of quail and ducks at Lee's Ranch, were notlong in exchanging invitations for future hunting together, if eithershould happen to stray into the other's vicinity.
"I feel as if I had known you always," said Elsie to Joyce, as theyseparated, regretfully, at bedtime, wondering if they ever would meetagain. "I wish you were going to the boarding-school with me."
"I wish you were going to stop in Arizona," answered Joyce. "Maybe youcan come out to the ranch sometime, when you are on your way back East."
"I think that we ought to all sit up together to see the old year outand the new year in," protested Mary, indignant at being hurried off tobed at half-past seven.
"You'll see the change all right," remarked Jack, "and you'll have achance to make a night of it. We have to get off at Maricopa a littleafter midnight, and there's no telling when that train for Phoenix willcome along. They say it's always behind time."
Late that night, Elsie, wakened by the stopping of the train, looked ather watch. The new year had just dawned. A brakeman went through the carwith a lantern. There were strange voices outside, a confusion of calls,and the curtains of her berth swayed and shook as a number of peoplehurried down the aisle, laden with baggage. Somebody tripped over a pairof shoes, left too far out in the aisle, and somebody muttered acomplaint about always being wakened at Maricopa by people who had nomore consideration for the travelling public than to make their changesin the dead of night.
"Maricopa," she thought, starting up on her elbow. "That is where theWares are to get off." Raising the window-shade, she peered out into thenight. Yes, there they were, just going into the station. Jack andHolland weighted down with baggage, Joyce helping the sweet-faced littlemother with one hand, and dragging the drowsy Norman after her with theother, Mary sleepily bringing up the rear with her hat tipped over oneeye, and her shoe-strings tripping her at every step.
"Bless her little soul, she's the funniest, fattest little chatterbox ofa girl I ever saw," thought Elsie, as she watched her stumble into thestation. "Good-bye, little vicar," she whispered, waving her hand. "Mayyou always keep inflexible. I wonder if I'll ever see any of them again.I wish I were in a big family like that. They do have such good timestogether."
As the train pulled slowly out and went thundering on into thedarkness, she tried to go to sleep again, but for a long time, whenevershe closed her eyes, she saw the little house in Kansas that Mary haddescribed so vividly. There it stood, empty and deserted in the snow,with the pathetic little Christmas-tree, left for the birds. And faraway, the family who loved it so dearly were facing blithely and bravelythe untried New Year, in which they were to make for themselves anotherhome, somewhere out on the lonely desert.
"Oh, I do hope they'll keep 'inflexible,'" was Elsie's last wakingthought. "I do hope they'll have a happy New Year."