Brand Blotters - Page 38/180

"Where is Hop?" she asked quickly.

"A-sleepin' in his room, ma'am."

"Go to the store and tend it till I come back, Jim. I may be an hour, or

mebbe two, but don't you move out of it for a moment. And don't ever speak

of any of this, not a word, Jim."

"No'm, 'cose I won't."

His loyalty she did not doubt an instant, though she knew his simple wits

might easily be led to indiscretion. But she did not stay to say more now,

but flew upstairs to the room that had been her brother's before he left

home. Scarce five minutes elapsed before she reappeared transformed. It

was a slim youth garbed as a cowpuncher that now slipped along the passage

to the rear, softly opened the door of the cook's room, noiselessly

abstracted the key, closed the door again as gently, and locked it from

the outside. She ran into her own room, strapped on her revolver belt, and

took her empty rifle from its case. As she ran through the room below the

one Jim occupied, she caught sight of a black rag thrown carelessly into

the fireplace and stuffed it into her pocket.

"That's just like Dad to leave evidence lying around," she said to

herself, for even in the anxiety that was flooding her she kept her quiet

commonsense.

After searching the horizon carefully to see that nobody was in sight,

she got into the rig and drove round the corral to the irrigating ditch.

This was a wide lateral of the main canal, used to supply the whole lower

valley with water, and just now it was empty. Melissy drove down into its

sandy bed and followed its course as rapidly as she could. If she were

only in time! If the stage had not yet passed! That was her only fear, the

dread of being too late. Not once did the risk of the thing she intended

occur to her. Physical fear had never been part of her. She had done the

things her brother Dick had done. She was a reckless rider, a good shot,

could tramp the hills or follow the round-up all day without knowing

fatigue. If her flesh still held its girlish curves and softness, the

muscles underneath were firm and compact. Often for her own amusement and

that of her father she had donned her brother's chaps, his spurs,

sombrero, and other paraphernalia, to masquerade about the house in them.

She had learned to imitate the long roll of the vaquero's stride, the

mannerisms common to his class, and even the heavy voice of a man. More

than once she had passed muster as a young man in the shapeless garments

she was now wearing. She felt confident that the very audacity of the

thing would carry it off. There would be a guard for the treasure box, of

course, but if all worked well he could be taken by surprise. Her rifle

was not loaded, but the chances were a hundred to one that she would not

need to use it.