When the girls were seated about the fireplace, they turned eagerly to the narrator of the tale which had been interrupted by their moving from the kitchen to the living-room.
“Let me see,” the lad was purposely tantalizing, “where did I end the first chapter?” Then, before he could be prompted, he continued: “Oh, yes; I remember.
“After Davie Wells had left us, Lucky suggested that we ride over to the Three Sand Hills. He wanted to climb to the top of the highest one and take observations, so to speak, of the entire surrounding country. It’s a hard climb, because of the sliding stones and sand, but we made it and held to the giant yucca up there, while, with shaded eyes we looked in every direction. It was an unusually clear day and every object stood out as though it were magnified, but not a sign of a gypsy wagon did we see. Lucky did make out a sand cloud way to the north, but it wasn’t large enough to hold a caravan. Lucky believed it to be made by a small herd of cattle trailing toward Puffed Snake Water Hole.
“It was dusk when we entered the ranch house, and Sing Long was the only person at home. He had been baking all the afternoon in the kitchen, and had neither seen nor heard anyone passing. We did not tell him that we had been informed that a gypsy caravan, made up of at least six covered wagons, had been seen leaving Douglas and heading our way. We had decided that there really was nothing in the report, and Sing Long was inclined to be imaginative.
“After supper Lucky and I sat for a time in front of the fireplace. I was reading, and, though Lucky held a newspaper and stared at it as though he were deeply engrossed in some item of Douglas news, he was evidently thinking all the time of what we had heard that afternoon. His first remark proved this.
“Suddenly he sat up very straight and seemed to be listening. ‘Did you hear it?’ he asked. ‘A sort of a rattling noise?’
“I put down my book and listened. I heard nothing and I told him so. ‘That is nothing, except the bellowing of the prize yearlings that we had driven into the corral the day before.’ It did seem as though they were making more noise than they had during the day.
“‘Wall, I reckon that’s only natural,’ Lucky tried to reassure himself by sayin’. ‘They’re restless, them young steers air, being shet in arter allays havin’ had the freedom of the range.’ He returned to his newspaper and I to my book, but before many minutes I was conscious of the fact that my companion was again listening intently. I laughed. ‘Lucky,’ I remonstrated, ‘aren’t you imaginative tonight? Surely you are not expecting a visit from Davie’s Gypsy caravan, are you? That would be utterly impossible, since only two hours ago you saw for yourself, when we were on the top of Yucca Hill, that there was nothing of the kind for many miles around.’
“‘Wall, I call’ate Ah am sort of skeerful. Truth is Ah never did like them Gypsy folk. Ran into ’em once when Ah was a little shaver, down in Texas, and Ah’ve given ’em a wide berth ever since.’ Then he rose, saying, as he yawned and stretched: ‘Wall, sort o’ guess Ah’ll turn in. Ah reckon Slim’s back from the border, or soon will be. Ah’ll take one more look at the corral an’ see if them gates are still barred.’
“‘All right, Lucky. S’long.’ Then I couldn’t resist teasing. ‘But don’t stay awake all night listening for tambourines.’
“After he was gone, I became so interested in my book that I sat up much later than usual. When I did decide to turn in, I first of all stepped out on the front porch and looked around.
“The bunk house was dark and there wasn’t a light anywhere on the desert. I was sure that if Gypsies were camped nearby they would have a night fire to protect them from wild animals and keep away insects.
“The prize yearlings in the corral were quieter, although every now and then one would start a restless lowing which would awaken a few others. Then a moment later, all would be silent.
“They’re safe enough,” I thought as I turned in and went to bed.
“I didn’t awaken until dawn, and then it was to slowly come to the consciousness that someone was pounding on my door. I can’t remember when I had ever locked it before.
“‘Who’s there?’ I called, leaping half dazed from bed.
“It was Lucky who answered, and, in his voice I sensed tragedy.
“‘It’s me, Malcolm! The prize yearlings! They’re plumb gone!’
“Of course I was into my clothes before I was hardly awake, nor did I fully grasp the meaning of what I had heard until I had flung open the door and had beheld Lucky’s face, white in spite of the tan which has been deepening there for the past forty years. One glance at him and I knew that I had heard aright.
“‘What do you make of it?’ we were swinging down the trail toward the corral when I asked the question.
“‘Gypsies, of course,’ was his laconic reply.
“‘It doesn’t seem possible nor reasonable.’ I was not convinced, but, of course, if the prize yearlings were really gone, someone had taken them unless—‘Lucky,’ I said, ‘are you sure they didn’t break through the fence somewhere?’
“‘Ah thought of that, but the tarnel thing is jest as whole as ’twas when Slim got through mendin’ it only Saturday week.’
“Just then we reached the drop in the trail and I could see the corral. Lucky had spoken truly; not a rail was misplaced, and, although the gate was standing open and torn from its hinges, it was evident that it had been broken by the impact of the stampeding cattle.
“I stood and stared almost stunned and hardly able to believe, even then, that so tragic a disaster had come to us. ‘Lucky,’ I said, ‘are you sure you barred the gate? The yearlings couldn’t get through there any more than through another part of the fence if it were equally secure.’
“I saw at once that my companion was hurt.
“I was sorry that I had asked the question, and I told him so. ‘Lucky,’ I said, with my hand on his shoulder, ‘there’s no one on the entire desert more trustworthy than you are. Of course the cattle got out some other way.’
“‘An’ the way was them gypsies.’ Lucky doggedly kept to his preconceived theory that a band of thieving gypsies were sure to rob us that night.
“It didn’t seem possible to me, nor probable either, but I didn’t tell him so.
“What I did say was. ‘Let’s get a snack to eat, climb Yucca Hill once more and see if there is any trace of the herd.’ Of course it would be impossible for gypsies to drive them very far in the few hours between midnight, when I turned in, and early dawn.
“But Lucky seemed determined to believe the worst. ‘Not if they were headed for the border,’ he replied. ‘They’d be across ’afore sunup easy.’
“I knew that to be true but decided to take an observation from the highest of the Three Sand Hills as soon as possible. Leaving our horses at the bottom we began the ascent. I had the misfortune when half way up to step on an insecure rock, which loosened and sent me sliding to the desert again. Lucky had kept right on and soon reached the top. I heard him shouting as he gestured excitedly. ‘What do you see?’ I called, feeling convinced that it was something which had interested him, nor was I wrong.
“‘It’s a tarnel whopper of a sand cloud and ’tisn’t Mexico way, neither, so we can take hope from that.’
“I had scrambled to his side by that time and stood shading my eyes from the glare of the rising sun. I, too, could see the rapidly moving cloud of sand.
“‘What do you make of it?’ I asked.
“‘Ah reckon it’s our yearlings all right on a stampede. But what’s puzzlin’ me is how a caravan on wheels that’s pulled by mules, as Davie said ’twas, kin go ’long fast enough to keep up with ’em.’
“‘It couldn’t,’ I replied, ‘but a bunch of rustlers on bronchos could keep up without half trying.’
“I was heart sick, Virg, at the thought that some clever cattle thieves had made away with our prize stock. The distance that they had already traveled, if they were our yearlings, was so great I could have no hope of overtaking them. There was one thing that puzzled me. That rapidly moving cloud of sand was headed directly for the part of our desert that is called Burning Acres. Not a ranch nor a water hole for miles and miles and sure death awaits man, horse or cattle if they get stranded in that barren waste.
“I was deeply discouraged. However, as we descended the hill I said: ‘Lucky, it’s a lost hope I guess, but the most we can do is to pack enough grub to last a few days, take two extra mounts, all the canteens we can carry and head that way.’
“That’s what we did, which brings the story up to the hour of our departure.”
“Did you find any trace of our yearlings?” Virginia’s query was anxious, for she knew that herd had been the pride of her brother’s heart. The lad shook his head. “No,” he said, “we didn’t. We rode as far into the Burning Acres as we dared go. When our water supply was half gone, we turned back, knowing that we would need an equal amount on our return trip. We had ridden in silence for some time when Lucky said: ‘Malcolm, Ah don’t hold that notion about gypsies any more. Ah reckon the thieves was rustlers that knew their business. Ah figger the fellow that told that yarn to Davie was stringin’ him. Thar wan’t any wheeled caravan in these parts, of that Ah’m sure sartin.’
“I was glad that he had come around to my way of thinking, but just as we were leaving the Burning Acres, I saw Lucky, who was in the lead, leap from his horse and examine the sand. Then turning, he gestured, beckoning me to hurry.”
Malcolm paused. “What had he found?” Betsy asked. She was sitting so close to the edge of her chair that she seemed in danger of falling off.
“Well, when I reached the spot,” Malcolm knew that what he was going to tell would astonish his hearers, “I saw Lucky pointing triumphantly at what were unmistakable wheel tracks in the sand.”
“Brother, do you really think that a band of gypsies has ridden into those dreadful dry lands?”
“I don’t know, Virg. We couldn’t stop to investigate as we were out of water and so we returned to V. M. As it was noon, we ate the good dinner Sing had ready for us and I turned in for an hour’s sleep but Lucky could not rest, and so after having had not more than forty winks of a doze, I heard him again riding away in search of further evidence.
“It was nearly dusk when he returned and he came on a gallop shouting my name. I was out on the porch in a moment. ‘Ah think Ah’ve hit a trail sure sartin this time,’ he called. I saw that he was leading my horse and a fresh mount that was laden with supplies.
“Uncle Tex rode in just then and seemed surprised to see that we were starting out so near nightfall. He had been to his cabin on Second Peak for several days and so had heard nothing of what had happened. I didn’t wait to explain, but must have mystified him greatly by calling, ‘Keep it dark which way we ride.’”
Virginia nodded for the old man had told her that he was indeed puzzled. “What did you find, brother?” she eagerly inquired.
“The same wagon tracks a mile to the west of where we had seen them before, but we could only find them in sheltered places. Of course in the open they were quickly covered with the drifting sand. We hunted for two days and all we found was this.”
He drew a scarlet silk scarf with fringed edges from his leather coat pocket. “That’s rather conclusive evidence that Lucky is right, isn’t it?” his sister inquired. “Shouldn’t you say that a gypsy woman might have used that scarf as a head covering?”
“I don’t know much about gypsies,” the lad replied, and the tale being told, he leaned back wearily.
It was the quiet Margaret who noticed how truly tired her guardian looked. “You’ve been over-working, Malcolm,” she said solicitously. “It has been a terrible strain for you to keep awake day and night with all the worry about the lost yearlings.”
The lad smiled down at her as he rose. “I think we’ll have to change places, Mistress Margaret,” he said. “I’ll be the ward and you the guardian since you look after me so well.” The sweet face of the girl was flushed, but, as Betsy had at that moment twisted the scarlet scarf about her own head, no one noticed Megsy.
When Malcolm was gone, the merry maid skipped lightly about on her toes shaking an imaginary tambourine.
“Betsy, you make a very fine gypsy,” Babs said, then, noting that Virginia sat, quietly gazing at the fire as though she were deep in thought, Barbara rested a hand on her arm as she added, “Virg, this means a good deal of a loss, doesn’t it, to you and Malcolm?”
The young hostess nodded, “Yes, dear, it does, but I am more concerned about Malcolm’s anxiety than I am about the disappearance of the yearlings. I do wish there was something that girls could do to help.”
Betsy had drawn near to listen. “Let’s get up just as soon as ever we can awaken,” she suggested, “and let’s try to find the wagon trails. If only I could solve this mystery, I’d be the happiest girl in all the land.”
Virginia, who understood the desert better than did her companions, even those who had visited it the year before, hesitated. Well she knew that it was very easy for even one desert-bred, to be lost in the Burning Acres. Then, noticing how truly disappointed Betsy looked, the young hostess conceded. “We can ride as far as the Three Sand Hills if you wish.” And with this Betsy had to be content, but how she did hope that they would go farther, and, Oh, if only she, Betsy Clossen, could find the caravan trail and restore the missing cattle. Her active brain was planning imaginary clews long after the others were asleep and yet, she was the first to awaken as soon as a faint grey light revealed the horizon. What would the day bring forth, she wondered.