Part 19 (1/2)

”I don't know; I hope not, I'm sure. I think a five-mile walk will do him good. He'll have time to cool off a little.”

”He thinks that we have made a false entry here,” Jessie went on, resentfully, approaching the window ledge and turning the leaves of the record. ”Why,” she continued, ”it does not seem to me that even a hardened criminal would dare to do a thing like that! And I'm not a hardened criminal--yet. I am not sure but that I might become one if I am obliged to see much of Mr. Horton, though!” She closed the book and, stepping up on a chair, laid it on the shelf where our few books were kept. When she stepped down again she had another book in her arms. It was a large, square, leather-bound volume, almost identical in appearance with the one that she had just laid away.

”What are you looking in the dictionary for?” I asked, as she laid the book on the broad window ledge that made such a convenient reading-desk.

”I want to know exactly what 'fundamental' means,” she replied. ”I know pretty well, or I think I do, but I want to know exactly.”

Finding the word, she presently read aloud:

”'Fundamental--pertaining to the foundation; hence, essential, elementary; a leading or primary principle; an essential.'”

”Well, that's plain enough,” she said, closing the book; ”but I think we have looked out for fundamental clauses pretty faithfully. I wish that Joe was at home; we must get an early start to-morrow. It is foolish to feel so, when we know just how matters stand; but, somehow, Mr. Horton's threats have made me uneasy.”

”No wonder! The very sight of him is enough to make one shudder. But I don't see that there is anything that we can do, more than we are doing, Jessie.”

”You might ride over, since you are going out anyway, and tell Mr.

Wilson what Mr. Horton has been saying. If you call on Mr. Drummond, who is our main hope for raising the money, you'll pa.s.s Wilson's, anyway.”

”Oh, yes! I'll see him, sure; and now I must be going.”

I went out accordingly, observing in an absent way, as I left the room, that, since no fundamental clause required Jessie to replace the dictionary on its shelf, it was still lying on the window-ledge.

I rode immediately over to Mr. Wilson's, and was fortunate in finding him at home. He promised to ”turn the thing over in his mind,” and, if there seemed to him, as a result of this process, anything, any new move, called for on our part, to ride over during the day and let us know.

Then I went on to the two or three places that we had in mind as most promising, if one desired to raise money, and failed distinctly, in every case. It was, as one of the ranchmen feelingly explained, ”a dry time; between hay and gra.s.s. Too late for the spring round-up and too early for the fall harvest.” Every one was, accordingly, lacking in ready cash.

I returned home, not greatly dejected by my failure, since, thanks to Mr. Wilson, I had so well understood the existing conditions before starting out that I would have been surprised if I had succeeded.

Joe being still absent, I was obliged to care for Frank myself. When, in the dusky twilight, I at length entered the house, it was to find little Ralph already fast asleep and Jessie about starting for the corral with the milk-pail.

”Haven't you got the milking done yet, Jessie?”

”No; I waited for Ralph to get to sleep and for you to come. Did you get any money?”

”No.”

Jessie sighed. ”I don't know, after all, that I much expected that you would. Well, if you can wait a little for your supper, come out to the corral and let me tell you what Mr. Wilson has been saying.”

”Has he been here again?”

”Yes; he just left a few minutes before you came.”

We went on out to the corral where the cows were waiting to be milked, Guard following after us with as much sedateness and dignity as if he had never contemplated, much less committed, a foolish act in his life.

CHAPTER XXI

A FRIEND IN NEED

Jessie seated herself on the milking-stool by old Cleo's side, while I leaned against the corral bars, watching her.

”You're tired, aren't you, Leslie?” she asked, glancing up at me, as under her nimble fingers, the streams of milk began to rattle noisily into the pail.