Virginia of V. M. Ranch by Grace May North - HTML preview

CHAPTER XLVIII—TOM’S RETURN.

Everyone in the ranch house the next morning was astir long before daybreak. The boys breakfasted at once and were in the saddle just as the sun was rising above the low line of the desert horizon in the far East.

How the girls did wish they, too, might accompany the lads who were to separate, each following a different trail that they might surely find Tom if he were endeavoring to walk to V. M. Each boy was leading a saddle horse, knowing only too well that Tom, after his week of starvation, would be greatly enfeebled. Malcolm advised them all to ride slowly, hallooing often and searching each sand hollow and mesquite clump which they might pass.

“We must make every effort to save poor Tom and the faithful little Mexican boy,” he told them before they parted on the south bank of the dry creek.

The three girls stood on the high back porch watching the lads ride away until one by one they had disappeared, or had become but moving specks in the far distance.

Then they re-entered the ranch house. “It’s much harder to remain at home and do nothing than it is to be actively assisting in the search,” Margaret declared, “but since Malcolm believed that we would better remain here, of course we must abide by his decision.”

“Brother thought that Tom might return to V. M. without having been found by the boys and of course if he does we will wish to be here to welcome him,” Virginia said. A busy morning followed, Virg assisted Uncle Tex with the baking, while the other girls tidied the house. Then, after lunch, they went to their rooms to try to rest, and so weary were they, that in spite of their anxiety, they slept.

It was mid-afternoon when the girls gathered with their sewing in the big cool living-room.

“Barbara, will you go to the kitchen porch and look toward the Seven Peak Trail and see what you can see.”

Babs complied with Virginia’s wish but returned shaking her head.

“I looked through the glass, Virg, in all directions,” she said, “but I saw nothing at all that was moving.”

“Hark!” Virginia exclaimed, sitting up and listening intently, “Megsy, dear, didn’t you hear a hallooing just then, or is it something my own ears hear that isn’t real?”

Babs and Margaret hurried to the window and opened it wide. Again they heard the hallooing, close at hand.

“Two horses are coming,” Megsy exclaimed excitedly, “and yes, surely the rider in the lead is Malcolm and on the horse following there are two, so it must be Tom, though his hat is drawn down so far I cannot see his face.”

Virginia joined the others. “It is! It surely must be Tom,” she cried, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes aglow with hope.

The girls turned as the door burst open and Malcolm entered, followed truly enough by the lost Tom, looking pale and worn. Before anyone could speak, a glad cry rang out, and everyone turned to look at Babs whose face was radiant with sudden joy.

“Peyton! My brother!”

“Little sister! God is good!” The lad held the girl close and there were tears in his eyes. Then he reached a hand out to Virginia, and Margaret, watching, knew by the way that he looked at the western girl, that he too cared.

Half an hour later, when Tom had recounted his recent thrilling adventures, Virg rose, saying that since they must be about starved, she would prepare the evening meal.

“I wish the others would return in time for supper,” Babs said. “Speak of angels and you hear the rustle of their wings,” Margaret sang out, holding up a finger as she spoke. Without could be heard the galloping of horses’ feet.

“Rather say, ‘bad pennies are sure to turn up,’ Malcolm exclaimed laughingly, adding with sudden seriousness, “but that is hardly fair, for a finer chap than Harry Wilson it would be hard to find.” Then, as he glanced out of the window he informed the others. “It is Hal, and his younger brother, I judge, is with him. They are dismounting down by the corral. Mendoza Quintano is racing to meet them. He just adores Harry. When Hal sees the Mexican lad, he will, of course, know that Tom has been found. Sure enough, here he comes sprinting at top speed.”

A second later, Harry Wilson sprang through the door which Malcolm had opened for him, and going to Tom, he embraced him as tenderly as he would a brother.

Later that afternoon Babs and her brother were alone; Virginia having thoughtfully arranged it, for she felt sure that the reunited brother and sister would have much to say to each other just by themselves.

“Peyton,” Babs said, slipping her hand in his, “you haven’t asked me about father.”

“Dad doesn’t care about me,” the boy said sorrowfully, “I wish he did.”

Barbara was about to tell her brother all that had happened and how changed her father was, when something occurred to assure him of this more forcefully than Babs could have done.

Their conversation was interrupted by a gentle tapping on the closed door, and Virginia’s voice called, “Babs, dear, Lucky just rode in with the mail. There are several letters for you and one that I thought you and Peyton might like to read together.” The young people had agreed to call Tom by his real name, although at first this would be hard to do.

“Thank you,” Barbara replied, while the lad, having leaped to his feet, opened the door and took the letters from Virginia.

A second later Babs exclaimed, “Oh, brother, here is one from poor dear father. I always think of him pityingly, ever since the day when I returned from school unexpectedly and found him pacing up and down in the library looking so desolate and so all alone. I didn’t understand then, but now I know that through the three years that you have been away he has been grieving for you. I shall never forget how he reached out his arms, when he saw me, and how tenderly he said, ‘You are like your mother, Barbara. She came to me when I needed her most just as you have come. If only that other Barbara had lived, all this would not have happened.’ He meant that our dear mother would have understood you better.” Then, after a moment Barbara added, “But brother, I wonder if you and I have ever really tried to understand our father. There must be a very kind heart under his reserve, else our mother, who was so joyous in her nature, would not have loved him. We never thought of it before that way, did we, brother?”

“No,” the lad replied, and there was a quiver in his voice. “I was very young and very head-strong and I felt, if I wanted to ruin my life, as dad declared that I would, it was my own life and I ought to be permitted to ruin it. Read the letter, sister. What has our father written?”

But, though Babs tried hard, she could not read aloud the message. The true feeling of her father, that had never been expressed in spoken words to his children, was revealed to them in the few heartbroken sentences that he had penned.

“Barbara, my little girl, I hope you will want to go home with me. You are all I have now. I have searched this country over and I cannot find my son; my other Barbara’s little boy, and how she loved him! I wanted to find him that I might ask him to forgive me, for I believe that somehow the fault must have been mine.”

“Babs! Little sister!” Peyton exclaimed as he sprang up. “Where is father now? I am going to him, at once, tonight if I can.”

The other young people were surprised to learn that Peyton had decided to leave for Texas, that very night, but Virginia was indeed glad when she learned that he was to be reunited with his father.

After supper the other boys accompanied Peyton to the Junction where he departed on the 10 o’clock train.

The next morning Harry and Benny rode away, promising, however, that they would return in a fortnight, when Margaret and Barbara were planning a surprise house party for Virginia’s seventeenth birthday.

The further adventures of these young people will be found in a book entitled, “Virginia of V. M. Ranch and Her Friends.”

The End.