Part 17 (2/2)
”c.o.o.nie understood in a second, and so did I. Unless we could drive the sheep into shelter, undoubtedly the whole number would perish in the storm. Lenox thrust j.a.p's bridle into my hand, and dashed ahead.
In a few minutes he and c.o.o.nie had succeeded in turning the leaders towards the entrance of the creek, and after them swept the rest of the flock. We followed into the sheltered glen, and, dismounting from our ponies, found a nook under a projecting piece of rock.
There were some tree-stumps about, and Lenox set to work to chop them with his axe, and soon made a roaring fire. How glad I was that Aunt Frances had made me bring the wrap! I should have been frozen without it. Even by the fireside the air was bitter. What must it be like out in the open prairie, we wondered? We had not sat long in our sheltered nook before we heard voices, and two figures, covered with ice and snow, made their appearance leading horses. They staggered to our camp-fire, half exhausted by the violence of the storm. Though his hair and his beard were white with snow, we had no difficulty in recognizing Spanish Lu. He thawed for a little, and then spoke to his herdsman.
”'The sheep!' he gasped.
”'They're all here,' answered Lenox in triumph. 'We saw them, and turned them into the creek.'
”Spanish Lu stared at us as if he could hardly believe his eyes.
”'You kids! You turned the whole herd?'
”I expect he felt pretty grateful, for, if it hadn't been for Lenox and c.o.o.nie, several thousand of his sheep would certainly have been lost, and, as it was, they were safely grazing in shelter. When the storm was sufficiently over for us to venture home, he led out Darkie himself and helped me to mount. Neither he nor we said a word about her loss, though we were perfectly certain he must have taken her from the stable.
”After that day he kept his sheep to his own side of the ridge, and, though he was never a pleasant neighbour, Uncle Carr wasn't obliged to go to law with him again about the boundary of the two ranches.
So we felt that Darkie had patched up peace, particularly as we didn't accuse Lu Hudson of taking her. Horse-stealing is a very serious crime in the West, so I expect he thought he had got off uncommonly well.”
”And what became of Darkie?” asked Meg, as Diana's ma.n.u.script came to a rather abrupt end.
”Uncle Carr gave up the ranch when he went into Congress, and Darkie and all the other ponies were left at Buller's Creek. She wouldn't have been happy off the prairie, or I'd have begged to have her. Lenox? Why, he's still in France; but I suppose he'll be demobilized soon, and going back to Harvard. He wants to be a professor, not a ranchman. He's a fearfully clever boy. Now, I've read my story, and I'm waiting for yours. Who's going to come next?”
”After such excitements as horse-stealing and a blizzard, our poor little adventures would seem very tame,” said Mrs. Fleming, voicing the general feeling of the family, each member of which was showing a plain desire to s.h.i.+rk. ”Suppose we keep our stories for another evening, and play games now? Meg, get pencils and paper, and we'll have a round of 'telegrams'.”
CHAPTER XI
Diana to the Rescue
Next morning the postman arrived quite laden with parcels and letters addressed to ”Miss Diana Hewlitt”. As Mrs. Fleming had prophesied, everything came at once, and her young guest spent a busy and ecstatic half-hour opening her various packages. Scent, French chocolates, Parisian embroideries, gloves, ribbons, and other dainty vanities such as girls love were raved over and spread forth on the table, while Diana devoured the contents of her letters. From one large envelope she drew forth a photograph of a lovely lady in evening-dress.
”It's Mother! Oh, how perfectly sweet! And the very image of her, too!”
she cried, handing the photo to Meg for admiration.
Her fit of the blues had utterly vanished, and she was in a rose-coloured mood to-day. Meg, leaning over the table, deeply interested in the parcels, looked critically at the picture of the bright-eyed lady with the soft coils of fair hair.
”She's not like you, Diana.”
”No. A thousand times better looking than I am!”
”I suppose you're like your father?”
”Yes, so people say, though I can't see it myself.”
”How pretty she is--and how young! She might almost be your sister. And yet I suppose she must be middle-aged.”
<script>