CHAPTER XXIV
AND THE REASON FOR IT
The girls entered the ranch house living room and stood looking about.
“How queer not to hear a sound,” Margaret said. “Why does it seem so much more still than usual do you suppose?”
“Perhaps because we do not hear the shouting of the Mahoy children,” Virg replied. “They are usually at play in the door yard at this hour. Let’s go over to their home and ask Mrs. Mahoy where everyone is.”
With a heart filled with an unaccountable foreboding, Virg led the way to the small adobe back of the big ranch house and nearer the dry creek.
As they approached they saw the four small children seated on the porch step huddled together. The oldest girl was softly crying, the two younger ones looked frightened, as though something had happened which they could not understand, and Patsy, though his lips were quivering, seemed to be trying not to cry.
Virginia leaped forward, and kneeling put her arms about the sobbing girl, then, looking at the boy, she said, “Patsy, lad, what has happened? Is your mother—”
She said no more, for the door opened and the little Irish woman appeared. She had on her hat and carried a bundle. The kneeling girl sprang to her feet. “Mrs. Mahoy,” she said with a new alarm in her heart, “where are you going? Has anything happened in the mine?”
The little woman nodded. “Indeed there has, Miss Virginia. It’s caved in somewheres. A boy from Slater’s just rode over to get you, but bein’ as you wasn’t here, I was starting mesilf. It’s thankful I am as ye’ve come, for I was beside mesilf entoirely not knowin’ what to do wid the children. Me Pat is all right, the saints be praised, but—” she hesitated.
“Malcolm, what about Malcolm?” It was Margaret who asked the question, her eyes thought of what might have happened to her guardian.
The little Irish woman hardly knew how to reply. “The boy said as how they hadn’t found him yet,” she told them, “but, like as not, they have by this time,” she hastened to add. “Uncle Tex went right back with the boy an’ I was goin’ mesilf with liniments and bandages.”
“I will take them, Mrs. Mahoy. You stay with the children.” Then turning to the other girl, Virginia added: “Margaret, perhaps you would better remain at home. I’ll send the Slater boy back with a message as soon as I know that all is well.”
She glanced anxiously at her adopted sister. There had been a long ride already that morning and Megsy was not as strong as the other.
“I am going with you,” was the quiet reply, and Virg knew that when Margaret spoke that way there was nothing more to be said.
Mrs. Mahoy had disappeared, but was quickly back in the open doorway, her hat removed. “Miss Virginia,” she said, “I’ve put the kettle on and in a minute now I’ll have a snack for you to be eatin’ before yez start on the ride to the mine.”
Half an hour later the girls were again in the saddle and were following the trail across Dry Creek toward Seven Peak Range. Virginia’s heart was filled with self-reproach, because she had permitted Malcolm to carry more than his share of the responsibility, and yet, how could she have helped it? It had been all work and no play for him ever since their father died. Suddenly she realized that Margaret was riding close at her side.
“Dear,” Megsy said, and there was a quiver in her voice, “try not to grieve yet. Wait until we know more. I feel sure that all is well with my guardian.” But was all well with the brave, strong, quiet Malcolm?