CHAPTER XXXVI—CAUGHT IN A TORRENT.
A month had passed. The wild March winds had blown itself out. The spring rains had filled the usually dry creek with a rushing, raging torrent which could be forded by neither man nor beast. Then, when at last the sun shone out, the desert glistened, while here and there a clump of bright flowers gleamed. The sand had been washed from cactus and mesquite and there were fresh leaves on the cottonwood trees. Birds sang, and also there was a rejoicing in the hearts of the two girls who had been so long held prisoners by the inclement weather.
“Think of it!” Margaret said as she swept the veranda the first clear morning after the rains. “It is three weeks since any one has been for the mail. Do you suppose that it would be safe for us to cross the creek today and ride to the Junction?”
“Oh, I’m sure that it would,” Virginia replied. “There isn’t a cloud anywhere to be seen and isn’t the sky the shiniest, gleamingest blue?”
Half an hour later, when their morning tasks were finished, Virg hailed her brother, who was on his way to the valley pasture to see what damage had been done to the mile square fence. “Buddy,” she called, “is it safe for Margaret and me to ride to the Junction for the mail? There must be just stacks of it there waiting for us?”
The lad scanned the horizon and replied in the affirmative.
The two ponies, Star and Comrade had been in the corral so long that they were high spirited and galloped across the hard, desert trail as though racing with each other.
Having reached the rocky creek bottom, where only a little water was trickling along, Virginia turned her pony toward the opposite bank where she expected to find the trail which they had always ascended but it had been washed away leaving a steep perpendicular cliff, up which they could not ride.
“What shall we do?” Margaret asked. “Is there no other way to reach the Junction?”
“Yes, there is another trail farther up the creek, but, to reach it we will have to ride between these high banks for about a mile. At this time of the year it is rather a risky thing to do, for if there should be a cloudburst in the mountains, we would find ourselves in a raging torrent, but since brother assured us that it is not going to rain, suppose we take the chance.”
Margaret agreed and silently they rode along the creek bottom. On either side of them the banks rose sheer and high. Virginia felt strangely troubled. She almost wished they had not taken the chance. They were within sight of the low banks, when Virginia suddenly drew rein and listened intently. Somewhere, up in the mountains ahead of them, she heard a sullen, roaring noise. What could it be? There was no wind and the sky was clear. Intuitively, however, the western girl knew that something was wrong.
“Megsy,” she called, “ride as fast as you can.” The creek bottom was covered with stones of all sizes and the eastern girl, frightened by Virginia’s command, urged her horse to greater speed. The dull roaring in the mountains grew louder and louder. Then, there was a report like a crash of thunder.
Virginia was only two lengths from the low bank when a rush of water hurled past them. It had risen to the stirrups when Comrade with a frightened snort, started to climb the low bank. Virginia looked back, and to her dismay she saw that Star had reared and that Margaret was about to be thrown into the swirling ever-deepening torrent. Seizing Margaret’s bridle, she called: “Let go of the rein, Megsy, and cling to Star’s neck. It’s your only chance.”
She again scrambled up the low bank with Star in tow and not a minute too soon, for following the last booming noise in the mountains, a mad rushing torrent was hurled down the creek, overflowing the low bank.
“That was a narrow escape,” Virginia had just said when Mr. and Mrs. Wells and their young son, Davie, rushed out of the station house to see what had happened.
“It’s the new Pine Canyon reservoir that’s burst!” the excited man exclaimed, then he added, “Miss Virginia, you gals wasn’t a ridin’ along the creek bottom, was ye?” When Virg replied in the affirmative, he ejaculated, “Wall, I’ll be jigger-switched. You sure had a narrow call, but if its mail as yer after there’s a stack of it for ye.”
Kind Mrs. Wells led the way indoors and gave each of the girls a cup of steaming coffee. As soon as the flood had passed, Malcolm and Slim, with anxious faces, appeared, and how relieved they were to find that the girls were safe. The cow-boy shouldered the bulging mail bag and they returned home by another trail.
Uncle Tex opened the ranch house door to admit them, and Virg felt his hand tremble in her clasp.
“Miss Virginia, dearie,” he said in a quivering voice, “don’t yo’ be doin’ reckless things any more. If yo’r wantin’ the mail, send yo’ old Uncle Tex. He’d ruther be swept away in a torrent than be livin’ without ye.”
The old man was almost overcome with emotion and the girl whom he had trotted on his knee as a baby, kissed him tenderly on his wrinkled leathery cheek. “Dear Uncle Tex,” she said. “I’m sorry we worried you all so much. We won’t take chances again. Honest Injun;” and then in a higher tone, she added, “We’re powerful hungry. Have you something nice for us?”
“That I have Miss Virginia dearie, an’ ah’ll open up a can of the preserved strawberries yo’ all like so much.”
The young people did justice to the good meal, and, when the last delicious strawberry had been eaten Virginia sprang up, quite her old self again as she said, “Now brother Malcolm, let’s open the mail bag.”
They went into the living-room and the young giant of a lad unbuckled the cover of the pouch and shook the letters and papers out on the library table. Margaret pounced upon one addressed in Bab’s familiar scrawl. Although Virginia received several letters from girl friends who were away at school, there was not a line from Tom. She was surprised to realize how truly disappointed she was, and, not feeling in a mood to read chattery letters from girl friends just then, she picked up one of the papers, and, sitting on the sunny window seat she idly glanced it over. Margaret was about to read the letter from Babs, when an excited exclamation from her friend sent her hurrying to her side as she inquired. “What is it, Virg? What have you found in the paper?”
For answer the western girl sprang up and seizing the astonished Margaret, she whirled her about as she exclaimed gaily. “I knew it. I knew it all the time.”
“Knew what?” asked the mystified Megsy. For answer Virginia drew her friend down on the window seat and then read aloud an astonishing bit of news.
“When I read that heading I was sure at once that it referred to our Tom,” Virg said.
“And does it?” Megsy asked eagerly.
“Read along and decide for yourself,” her friend replied and so Margaret bent her head over the sheet and read aloud:
“To all whom it may concern, and to the young man calling himself Tom Wentworth in particular, this article is addressed: Be it known that a Mexican, Miguel Lopez, on his death-bed confessed to having been guilty of a crime, the circumstantial evidence of which he cleverly turned upon an innocent bystander who has ever since (being unable to prove his innocence) been a fugitive from justice. Tom Wentworth, a young man of about eighteen is tall, slim, with wavy light brown hair and blue-grey eyes.
“When last heard of he was hiding in The Seven Peak Range just across the Mexican border in Arizona. Anyone reading this article who has knowledge of the whereabouts of the young man in question, will confer a favor upon the state authorities of Texas if he or she will inform the same that he is no longer held guilty of the crime which was unjustly attributed to him.”
“There!” Virginia exclaimed. “Now what do you think of that?”
“It surely must mean our Tom,” Megsy began. Then she added excitedly, “Oh, Virg, I was right, wasn’t I? Tom’s last names does begin with W, but it is Wentworth and not Wente. However, it is curious, isn’t it, that he and Babs have last names so near alike?”
Virginia nodded. “Now,” she said, “the big question is, how shall we get this glorious news to Tom in the shortest possible time?”
“It surely can’t be done tonight,” Margaret, said as she lighted the lamp with its warm crimson shade, “for it is nearly dark.” Then she added, “Isn’t there some way to telephone to the Wilson Ranch?”
Virg shook her head. “No,” she replied, “distances are so great here on the desert that the only telephone lines are those that have been erected by neighbors for their own private use. Our telephone connects us with the Dartley ranch and was put up merely for protection in case either of us might be in urgent need of assistance.”
Then as she seated herself by the table, Virg said, “When Malcolm comes in we’ll ask his advice. Oh, I am so happy about it! How I wish I might be with Tom when he hears the goods news that I might see his face glow when he realizes that he is no longer a fugitive from justice. But who is your letter from?”
“Another plump epistle from Babs!” Megsy replied. “Shall I read it to you?” Virg nodded in the affirmative and took up her sewing. Margaret unfolded the truly voluminous letter and began reading another chapter in the life of Babs at the Vine Haven Boarding School.