The Forbidden Trail by Honoré Willsie (best selling autobiographies .txt) 📖

sight," said Roger in a hopeful voice.

"Oh, what an awful thing to say!" protested Charley.

"Wait till you see the dame," returned Roger. "Charley, I can't have her staying the night here and I don't dare to send her up to your place. She might run amuck."

"Pshaw, no, she won't! I'll take care of her. Show me the lady."

Roger led the way to the cook tent. Mrs. von Minden sat on a bench, her back against a tent pole, her eyes closed. She opened them, however, when Roger spoke her name and acknowledged the introduction to Charley and Felicia with considerable air. She refused Charley's offer of hospitality, with utter finality.

"Here my Yogis directed me, and here I must stay until my husband comes. I will be no burden, after my tent is set up, if the young man will cook for me. And my gray hairs are sufficient chaperone."

"But I will not cook for you," said Roger very firmly. "My partner and I find it hard enough work cooking for ourselves. We are under great nervous and physical strain, Mrs. von Minden, and I must tell you frankly, it will be extremely inconvenient to have you here. This rough camp is no place for a woman."

"No place for a woman, eh?" repeated Mrs. von Minden. "Why it's paradise compared to some of the places Otto von Minden has kept me in." She rose suddenly and began to pace the sandy floor, a majestic figure in spite of her grotesqueness. "What was I when he found me, an unsophisticated girl of twenty, living in my quiet New Hampshire home. He promised me everything—travel, court life, the emperor's favor. What does he give me but desert camps? Camps where he and I were the only human beings within a thousand miles. Camps where I worked like any squaw—where a bit of tent and a blanket made our entire equipment. Five years ago he left me. I've taught school long enough to save money for an outfit and now I shall not leave till I have found him and given him the message of the Yogis."

"But, Mr. von Minden comes to see me every once in a while. You'll be much more apt to find him at the ranch than here."

"Here I must stay," reiterated the unwelcome guest, with a sudden quaver in her voice that made Roger say hastily:

"Oh, very well! Mrs. von Minden. If you'll show me which is your tent pack, I'll try to make you comfortable."

"I'll stay and help," said Charley.

"So will I," cried Felicia. "I'd love to unpack the burros. All the bundles are so knobby. Are there any doll dishes there, Mrs. von Minden?"

As if she saw the child for the first time, Mrs. von Minden gazed at her in astonishment. "Why, my dear, how much you look like your sister! No, there are no doll dishes there, I'm sorry to say. Come, children!" and her pink robe blowing she led the way to the patient burros.

"Isn't this fun?" whispered Charley to Roger.

"Maybe! But how'll I explain to Ernest?"

The mere thought of this sent Charley off into a gale of laughter that caused Mrs. von Minden to ask sharply:

"What is so funny?"

"I'm just laughing at what Mr. Moore's partner and my brother will say when they get in some time to-night and find a lady established here," answered Charley frankly.

The visitor smiled grimly and set about her unpacking. The particularly knobby bundle which had fascinated Felicia proved to be a rocking chair, enwrapped by the canvas tent. There was a compact little cooking outfit, several large books on Occultism, an air mattress, two pink quilts, a pink pillow and a suitcase of clothing. One burro was loaded with provisions, consisting of olive oil, sugar, coffee, flour and canned cheese.

Roger knocked together a crude tent frame and stretched the tent over it, Mrs. von Minden directing while Charley and Felicia tugged with him. The guest refused to allow Roger to make a bunk for her. The Yogis, it seemed, had told her to sleep on the ground. When the mattress and rocking chair and a box for a table had been established in the tent Madam expressed herself as satisfied.

"You may rest now, children," she said, "while I concentrate."

"By the way," suggested Roger. "How about the burros? With all the good will in the world, I can't feed them, for I have no fodder."

"You have a ranch, Miss Preble," said Mrs. von Minden. "I will pay you for boarding them. What is the charge?"

"My brother will take care of that on his return," answered Charley. "We'll lead them up when we go home."

"You're not going yet, Charley," exclaimed Roger, in alarm. "You must stay to supper."

"I never was so popular in my life," laughed Charley. "Of course I'll stay. Let me have a look at the new well, Roger. Do you think it's going to meet your demands?"

She crossed the camp to admire the new pump, Roger following.

"I don't think it will do more than supply engine and camp needs," replied Roger. "I don't know whether to go ahead, prospecting for water, or to erect the plant first."

"Why don't you erect your plant, then if you don't find enough water after drilling for it, with your engine, move up to the ranch and use our spring. I'm not trying to graft something free. We'll be glad to pay for it. But our old gasoline engine is an awful lemon and it's going to be an awful job to keep up the supply of gasoline."

"Jove! My first customer? Charley, you're a peach!" exclaimed Roger. "I suppose I might put my plant up on your place to begin with. But no, this is the spot the Smithsonian picked, it's government land, and to move now might make endless complications. But you'll have your pumping plant, Charley, before any one else does. And we'll make the alfalfa crops pay for it."

Charley nodded, then gasped, "Look, Roger! Oh, if Ernest and Dick could only steal in now!"

The guest had pulled her rocker out before the tent flap and was seated in it, eyes closed, hands clasped over her stomach, immovable except for a light swaying of her chair.

"Concentrating, I suppose," muttered Roger. "Charley, I'll bet the old bird will never leave me. I have the feeling."

"What on earth does she mean by concentrating?" gasped Charley, through her laughter.

"Oh, it's some of that occult rot, I don't doubt," groaned Roger. "Charley, stay till the fellows come. I'm frightened."

"On the contrary," laughed Charley, "I'm going to get us all an early supper and put those burros to bed before dark."

She was as good as her word. The afterglow had not faded from the sky when Roger returned to the camp, after helping Charley with her chores. His guest had retired to her tent and Roger withdrew to his and threw himself down on his cot to await the return of Dick and Ernest.

It was midnight when the teams rattled into camp. Roger hastened out at once.

"We'll unhitch and leave both wagons here to unload in the morning," said Ernest.

Dick already was silently unchecking his horses, returning only a grunt to Roger's greeting.

"I'll go with you, Dick, and take our team to the corral," said Roger.

"Don't be a fool!" growled Dick. "I'll take them without any help. If I've got to board 'em, I'll do the work for 'em. Don't you butt in!" He mounted one of his own horses and stringing the others behind, he rode off under the starlight.

"For the Lord's sake!" exclaimed Roger, following Ernest into the tent, "what's the matter with Dick?"

Ernest tossed a pile of mail onto the trunk beside the candle. "I haven't the remotest idea. He was as jolly as usual when we had our supper at sunset. About an hour ago I spoke to him and he took my head off. I haven't tried him since. Sweet for poor Charley."

"I didn't know he was subject to grouches," mused Roger. "Say, Ern, before I read the mail, I've got some news for you."

"Qui-tha done some real work?" asked Ernest with a yawn.

"Oh, Qui-tha! I'd forgotten him. He departed that morning without a farewell. We have, however, another guest, who is at this moment asleep in her own tent, near the cook house."

"Get out, Roger! It's too late for joking. Let me get to bed."

"A regular lady, Ern, six feet two or three in height and as near as I can make out she's here for keeps. She's Von Minden's wife."

Ernest stopped yawning. "Who the deuce is Von Minden?"

"Oh, I forgot to mention him. He's the man who tried to shoot me yesterday."

Ernest stared at Roger incredulously. "Rog, what's the matter with you? You're positively maudlin."

Roger chuckled. "Next time you want excitement, Ernie, don't go to Archer's Springs. Stay right at home here in the God-forsakenest spot on earth. Now I'll make my story as short as I can, but you've got to hear it to-night. I can't sleep with it on my chest and she's liable to break loose with something any time."

He finished his story as rapidly as possible, Ernest's consternation growing as he proceeded.

"But, my Lord, Rog, she can't stay here!" he cried.

"So I told her. So Charley told her. But she's here. In her tent. On her air mattress. Her rocking chair beside her. Her books on occultism at her head."

"I was going to ask you to read that letter from Washington to-night," said Ernest, feebly, "but I feel that I need immediate rest. I'll go up in the morning to see Dick and if he still has his grouch with him, I'll bring him back to tackle the lady."

Roger yawned. "Guess I will leave the mail until morning. That woman has exhausted me more than any job we've tackled yet."

He blew out the candle and in a few moments the little camp was silent in the star glow.