"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.