CHAPTER XXXII—A FIERCE WARRIOR.
A week had passed and it had been an anxious one for Virginia and Margaret as they had no way of knowing whether or not Tom had managed to escape the posse that had been searching for him. True, they had one day ridden to the Junction and there they had learned from Mrs. Wells, the station master’s wife, that the posse had returned to Texas, but whether they had captured the young outlaw or not the good woman could not tell.
One glorious day Margaret asked Virginia if she would like to go for a ride but the western girl wished to remain at home and suggested that Megsy go for a short canter by herself.
“You will be perfectly safe, dear,” Virginia assured her. “Suppose you follow the trail over the mesa and toward the sand hills, then circle around them and come home again. That ride will make you good and hungry for the delicious something that I am going to bake. Our miners are to return tomorrow, and since Uncle Tex does not know how to make pies, Mrs. Mahoy offered to teach me this morning.”
Half an hour later Margaret cantered away, feeling very brave indeed, as this was the first time she had started out on a desert trail all alone and unprotected. When she reached the mesa, she drew rein and looked about. Not a horseman was to be seen, only the gleaming white sand with here and there a mesquite brush, or a clump of wiry grass or a spot of flaming color where some hardy plant was blossoming.
Toward the north lay the desolate sandhills on which tall stalks of yucca stood like silent sentinels. Margaret decided to do as Virginia had suggested, gallop around the small group of hills and then, home again. How she did wish that Babs was with her, for well she knew that her eastern schoolmate would enjoy a canter on so glorious a morning. It wouldn’t be long though before Babs would be coming. “Today is the first of March,” Margaret was thinking. “April and May will soon pass and then it will be June and Barbara will come.”
Margaret was nearing the first of the three isolated sand hills when she felt her saddle slipping. She dismounted to tighten the girth when suddenly she lifted her head and listened intently.
What had she heard? Perhaps nothing really, for well she knew that being timid, she was very imaginative. She fastened the girth securely and had one foot in a stirrup about to remount when again she heard the sound, and this time it was much nearer than before. Leaping to her saddle, she was about to gallop away when she saw a band of horsemen coming around the nearest sand hill. Terrorized she whirled her pony’s head toward the south and urged Star to his top speed.
She knew by the racing hoofbeats back of her that she was being pursued. Could she reach the V. M. Ranch before she was overtaken?
Virginia was proudly surveying the row of pies, which, with the help of Mrs. Mahoy, she had just made, when she heard the front door burst open and slam shut. Then, almost before she could turn around, a terrorized girl rushed into the kitchen, and seizing Virginia, clung to her wildly as she said, “Oh, Virg, I was almost captured by Indians. They came around the sand hills. The minute I saw them I galloped for home, but two of them pursued me. Do you suppose they are coming to raid the ranch as you said they used to do when your father was a boy?”
“No, no, Megsy, of course not,” Virginia replied. “Tell me what did your Indian pursuers look like.”
“One of them was a big fierce warrior, and—”
Just then there was a rap at the front door. “Oh! Oh! There they are now! Virg, you aren’t going to let them in?”
“Megsy, my dear, the only Indians living near here are the friendly Papagoes. Please do not hold me so tight.” The western girl had to fairly drag herself away from Margaret.
When the door was opened there on the porch stood the Indian maiden, Winona, and by her side was little Red Feather.
Virginia was delighted and embraced her Indian friend just as she would have welcomed a white girl whom she loved and had not seen for a long time.
“Margaret,” she called, “come and meet my dear friend Winona, of whom I have so often spoken.”
Margaret approached, feeling rather overcome by the sudden change of emotions. She held out her hand to the Indian girl and said sincerely that she was indeed glad to meet Virginia’s friend. Then she smiled at the little fellow whom she had called a “fierce warrior.” About his straight black hair there was a band of green, in which, perched at a jaunty angle, was a bright red feather. The Indian boy’s white teeth gleamed as he said admiringly:
“Fast pony! Go zip!”
Luckily neither of the Papago visitors had suspected that Margaret had been frightened by their sudden appearance at the sand hills.
“Can’t you stay awhile, Winona?” Virginia asked.
“Not this time. Some other, perhaps. My father, Chief Grey Hawk, awaits me. We have buying to do in town, but I wanted to tell you the nice young man, your friend, he came and went again soon to the north. Red Feather showed him the way. He reached there safely.”
Virginia’s eyes glowed, and again taking the Indian girl’s hand, she exclaimed, “Oh, Winona, I am so glad that you stopped to tell me. We were eager to know if Tom really found your village. It is so hidden that the entrance is hard to find.”
When the farewells had been said and the two visitors had ridden away, Margaret went to the old writing desk, declaring that she was going to pen Babs a letter that would make the boarding school life seem dull and monotonous. Scarcely was the epistle finished and sealed, when Lucky called to say that he was riding to the Junction and would take the mail.
“Be sure to bring us back some letters,” Virginia called merrily as the cow-boy, waving his sombrero, rode away.