Jessica, the Heiress

But Master Ned, the cause of all this emotion, looked calmly upon the stranger, and demanded:

“Where’s that printing press you promised, hey? I can say five, ten letters now, and I can spell cat backwards!”

“Is it possible? Before such erudition I bow my humble head!” laughed the visitor, grateful for any, even nonsensical, words that would relieve the tension of the moment.

But here Aunt Sally caught up the boy and looked him over anxiously; then joyfully declared:

“He’s got his senses back. Oh! Gabriella, where are you? Neddy’s all right!”

“Oh, auntie, hush! There’s no need to tell mother anything of this last danger, and if you’ll only please put Ned back to bed she won’t have to know.”

“Ain’t goin’ to bed. Been a-bed ’nough,” protested the supposed invalid. “Want my clothes. Want to go downstairs and get my supper.”

“Get my supper,” assented Luis, creeping forward from the corner where he had hidden in fear of he knew not what.

“Hello, echo! You on hand again? How’s business?” demanded Ninian, drawing the child towards him.

“First rate,” answered Ned, for his comrade, who promptly echoed: “’Strate.”

But now came the mother, hurrying up the stairs, with a bowl of gruel she had gone to prepare, and interest in which had opportunely prevented her knowing either of the reporter’s arrival or her son’s peril. And the visitor sprang to his feet again, while she welcomed him as cordially and gracefully as if she had been sitting in state, expectant, within her own pretty parlor.

One flash of her eyes toward her boy, safe in Mrs. Benton’s arms again and carefully wrapped about in her capacious apron, relieved any anxiety she might have felt in coming upon this unexpected group, and she asked, with a little burst of laughter:

“Is it possible that Ned was so quick to welcome you? Well, son, it might have been more courteous to have gone downstairs; but I’m sure our friend will pardon a little lad who’s been ill. He’s really better, isn’t he, Aunt Sally? He looks quite natural.”

“Yes, honey, he’s better. I reckon he’s passed the turnin’ point now, if nothin’ new sets in. You take Mr. Sharp down into the settin’-room, ’cause he’s seen the children and I’ll set with them a spell. Wun Lung can get the supper well’s I can, if he’ll put his heatheny mind to it. Eh? What is it, sonny?”

Fortunately, Ned, like most sleepwalkers, was wholly unconscious of his actions while in that abnormal state, and made no comments on anything save his own reluctance to go to bed while so interesting a gentleman was in the house; but was finally coaxed to do so by the promise of Luis sharing his cot as well as his porridge; whereupon Mrs. Trent kissed him good-night and invited the guest below.

His protestations against another supper, after the excellent one he had taken at Aleck McLeod’s, met with nothing but the hospitable rejoinder:

“Oh! but you can surely manage a light refreshment, since you’ve ridden thirty miles from Marion.”

To which the little captain added her entreaties, saying:

“I’m hungry, anyway. I’m always so, I guess, but I couldn’t think of breaking bread before you unless you share it.”

Therefore sleepy Wun Lung came with the tray, and was gratified by the friendly notice of the stranger; and Mrs. Trent made tea in the little swinging kettle over her alcohol lamp, her daughter declaring that it always tasted better served in that way. Ninian found that, in spite of his protestations, the simple refreshments were very acceptable, and the trio were quietly enjoying their reunion when Jessica suddenly remembered Ephraim and sprang up to go in search of him, exclaiming:

“Even if Mr. Sharp isn’t hungry, dear old ‘Forty-niner’ is sure to be. He’ll be here soon, maybe, but I won’t wait till the kettle is cold. He’s been sleeping at the ‘house’ ever since he got back and might go straight to his room, if I don’t prevent.”

When she had gone Ninian observed upon the remarkable devotion between the old sharpshooter and his small pupil, and the mother assented; yet added, as an after-thought:

“I sometimes regret it. Jessica is a child of impulsive, yet absorbing affections. She can see no flaw in the character of anybody she loves; and–well, none of us are perfect, and Ephraim grows old.”

Still, when he entered, the lady greeted him with cordiality, and served him promptly; and presently they were all talking eagerly of the recent events at Sobrante. Of course, Pedro came in for a brief but loving mention; and to the guest’s inquiry as to what had been done with the fine flock of sheep which the old man had herded, the mistress replied:

“I have sent them up into the mountains, with the herds of a neighbor, for the present. Ephraim, here, petitioned for the post of shepherd, but I dared not give it to him,” and she looked deprecatingly toward the sharpshooter.

“No, she didn’t,” assented he. “She could trust that Old Century, but she couldn’t trust me.”

There was greater bitterness in the tone than he had ever manifested before his small captain, and she was quick to notice and resent it.

“Look here, you blessed old grumbler, you stop that, please. If not ‘please,’ stop it anyway, because I’m your commander. You know why, and only why, my mother said ‘no’ to that bright scheme of yours.” Then she explained to Ninian, who was listening closely: “You must understand that shepherding is the very loneliest thing that has to be done on a ranch. The shepherd is alone from week to week; on some ranches from month to month. He hasn’t a soul to speak to save when somebody chances to cross his field, which isn’t often. A lot of men go crazy, living that way, and mother has always been afraid for even Pedro. I never was for him, though, ’cause he always liked it and had lived so–well, forever. But naughty old ‘Forty-niner’ felt it would be his ‘duty’ to go up there away from all of us, and mother wouldn’t let him, and so–”

“And so, my honored captain, you’ll force me to be a mere hanger-on and idler.”

Jessica held up her forefinger, warningly. “That’s enough, Ephraim. I am ‘She that must be obeyed,’ Samson says, sometimes. And one of the times is now. If you and mother aren’t ashamed to disagree before my dear Mr. Sharp, I’m ashamed to have you!”

All laughed and none took offense at this plain talk which, jesting though it seemed, covered a serious meaning, and soon “Forty-niner” remarked, as if to close the subject:

“Well, all’s said and done; yet, still, I know if I’d been let to have my way in this I’d have stopped a deal of mischief. It would be better, seems to me, to have an old frontiersman living in Pedro’s cabin than a spook.”

Mrs. Trent started, and, the guest fancied, shivered slightly. But she rejoined, impatiently:

“Oh, Mr. Marsh! that nonsense again, and from you!”

“So they say, ma’am.”

Cried Jessica gayly:

“The only thing Sobrante needed to make it as lovely as those old English places one reads about in the story books was a ‘ghost’, and now we’ve got it! Honest, and I do hope you’ll see it for yourself. I want to so much, and one night Samson and I chased it, but–it got away. The ‘boys’ say now that it has even taken to horseback. Don’t you wish you might be luckier than I, Mr. Ninian?”

A glance flashed between the reporter and the sharpshooter, but not quite swiftly enough to escape the girl’s observation; and, after a moment’s pause, she exclaimed:

“Why, I believe you have already seen it!”

There was an awkward silence, which Mrs. Trent broke by the stern reproof she managed to throw into one word: “Jessica!”

“Yes, mother, I know. It’s silly, and I will be careful not to mention the delightful subject before the children.”

“What are you but a child yourself, my mature little woman?” demanded the visitor, playfully.

“Why, I’m a little girl, of course; but one who always wanted to see a fairy, till somebody told me there was none. Now I’m longing for this ‘spook’–that really is, ’cause so many, many have seen it–and I’m not even let to talk about him.”

Mrs. Trent shook her head regretfully.

“I’m afraid we’ve spoiled you among us, my darling. But, leaving these unexplained things to explain themselves at their proper time, suppose you go and see that all is ready in Mr. Sharp’s room? Wun Lung is still mooning by himself on the kitchen stoop and will do what you ask him.”

“They all do that, I infer,” commented Ninian, as the child hastened away, eager to serve all whom she loved.

“Yes, they do. It’s a delightful, but not, maybe, the wisest life for any girl to live. No playmates except her two small brothers, and no schooling that is at all regular or effective. I can’t imagine what Sobrante would be without her, and yet–”

She paused and “Forty-niner” took up her sentence:

“It wouldn’t be Sobrante, mistress. That’s all. I, for one, couldn’t stay here and serve under any other body now except my captain;” and so saying, as if a shadow of the future fell upon him, the old man rose and went out, quite forgetting to say good-night.

Meanwhile, Jessica had found Wun Lung and also found him more than willing to go with her and perform even additional tasks, since by so doing he might have the comfort and safety of human presence. Fragments of talk had come to him in his kitchen concerning the apparitions which had startled the whole countryside, during these past few days, and had received the strongest confirmation from his housemate, Pasqual. The latter believed, indeed, all that he himself heard and invented much more. He had grown to be afraid of his own shadow and now resorted to the men’s quarters on each and every occasion that presented, feeling a safety among them he could not feel at the “house” among a lot of women. Of course, his defection from duty entailed endless conflicts between himself and Aunt Sally, but since this resulted in nothing worse to the delinquent than a loss of some dainty food, he could put up with it. He was away now, bunking in Marty’s room, and Wun Lung sat alone, too afraid to go to bed, yet too uneasy to enjoy the beauty of the night. His sharp, black eyes peered here and there and everywhere, about the place; and when Jessica came running to him, in her noiseless moccasins, he jumped so high that his queue flew out at a right angle from his head, and he screeched:

“Oh, mly flathe’s, mly flathe’s!”

Lady Jess laughed aloud.

“No, good Wun Lung. Not your fathers, nor even any of your relatives, but only me. Having had supper, the next thing for our dear Mr. Sharp is a bed and sleep. Come help me make it ready.”

The Chinaman rose with alacrity, and soon had collected the bed linen, towels and bucket of water, suggesting that Jessica should bring a lighted candle.

“Oh! we don’t need a light, Wun Lung. It’s as bright as day with the shutters open, and we must be quick, anyway, for the dear man has been ill and is tired.”

The room was the same that Mr. Hale had found so delightful during his own visit to the ranch, and the girl threw the shutters wide, to let in the fresh air and moonlight while they arranged the place for occupancy. She left the bed making to the longer and stronger arms of her assistant, but herself attended to the pitchers and toilet things; and while so engaged, with her back toward the open windows, was suddenly startled by an ear-piercing shriek from the Chinaman.

Shriek? Not one, but many; prolonged, reiterated, till the whole house seemed in an uproar; and facing swiftly about, to learn the cause and still the clamor, Jessica found her lately expressed desire completely gratified. For there, clearly distinct in the moonlight, not ten paces from the window whence she gazed, was the phantom horse and rider!

CHAPTER XVII.

THE CACTUS HEDGE

The shrieks ended by Wun Lung’s throwing himself face downward on the floor, but they had roused the whole household, even the sleeping children. Those in the room below had rushed to the stairs, wondering what could possibly have happened to the Chinaman, whose outcries these certainly were. The little lads had sprang from their cot, screaming on their own account, and Mrs. Benton had awaked from the “fortywinks” she was taking in her chair.

As a natural result of her sudden awakening she grasped the two children who were clinging to her skirts and shook them soundly, ordering them to “shut up to once ’fore you scare folks to death.”

They were not easily pacified and she thus, fortunately, had her hands full, for the moment, else the fear-paralyzed Wun Lung might have fared hardly. As it was, none but Jessica had a full, clear view of the strange visitant, since the Chinaman had closed his eyes against it and the others had not thought to look out of doors; but she saw it, and with critical distinctness.

For an instant, indeed, her own nerves had thrilled and her heart seemed to stand still; the next her overpowering desire to see the “spook” for herself had conquered her terror and she gazed with all her might.

“It certainly looks like Pedro, with his clothes all white. And the horse–it may be his that died–but–but–”

The ghostly steed and its rider remained utterly motionless, as if scrutinizing the house on their own part or waiting for somebody to appear; then, as the little girl bounded to the open window the better to gratify her curiosity, the animal–if such it was–slowly wheeled about and loped away. There was a sound of muffled footfalls on the hard drive, and the vision had vanished.

Jessica still leaned from the casement watching and thinking more rapidly than she had ever done before; but when convinced that the apparition was really gone, she slowly retreated below stairs, passing her mother and Ninian on the way, yet not pausing till she had gained the side of the sharpshooter. Him she seized, exultantly exclaiming:

“Well, Ephraim, I’ve seen your spectre!”

“You–have!”

“And it’s no more a ‘ghost’ than I am.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded, hastily; ashamed of himself for half regretting that the supernatural view of the matter might not be the right one. “It isn’t? Well, what is it, then?”

“It’s Antonio Bernal and his horse, Nero.”

“Huh! How do you fetch that? When both of them are black as my hat.”

Her last, lingering uneasiness banished by his presence and the sound of her own words, with firmer conviction she declared to him and the others who had now gathered about her:

“I ‘fetch it’ fast enough. This was the way dear old Pedro used to ride; and this is the way your ‘spook’ sat his horse,” she announced, so vividly mimicking both men that all who had known them recognized the likeness, and Ephraim exclaimed:

“That’s them to a t-i-o-n-tion! Can seem to see ’em right here before me. Well–what next?”

“Pedro wore his blanket like a king. Antonio has covered his head with that white thing, and even so wasn’t half Pedro’s height. I shall not soon forget that splendid Old Century, the last time I saw him ride away, that night. A hundred years old, yet as straight in his saddle as a rod.”

“Antonio Bernal was a magnificent horseman, darling,” suggested Mrs. Trent, from the chair into which she had sunk, as if weakened by the series of startling events which had befallen her home.

“Even so, mother, dear, he couldn’t match old Pedro. Antonio sat forward, so, with a careless sort of slouch–just like the ‘spook’ had.”

“What could possibly be his motive for such foolishness, daughter, granting you are right?”

The captain laughed.

“Upon my word, mother, even you, as well as Ephraim, seem sorry it isn’t a truly ghost, after all.”

“No, no, indeed. I’m sorry, rather, to think it may be Antonio, as you fancy, and that he still persists in troubling us, even by so silly a disguise.”

“It hasn’t been so silly, Mrs. Trent, if it has hoodwinked a lot of sensible people, and you are right–there must be a motive for it in the actor’s mind. I hope Jessica’s judgment in the case is correct, for back there in Los Angeles, we didn’t find the manager a difficult person to deal with,” remarked Mr. Sharp.

The girl went on:

“Then that horse. Don’t you remember, mother, and you, Ephraim, the curious little switch Nero used to give his tail whenever he was turned around? Well, this ‘spook’ horse did just the same thing. Oh, I know, I know I’m right!”

“But how could he turn a black horse snow white, even if you are? As I remember Nero he wouldn’t stand much nonsense, even from his own master,” said “Forty-niner.”

“Pooh! If lack-wit Ferd could paint Prince, as he did–another spirited horse, if you please–Antonio could do what he liked with Nero. It’s paint, of course, or something like it.”

“But the eyes? The eyes as we saw them on the road, a few hours back, were all on fire. You could see them almost before you could make out that it was a man on horseback was coming. Isn’t that so, Sharp?” demanded Ephraim, persistent to the last.

Jessica turned upon him, triumphantly:

“There! I knew from the way you two looked when we were talking a little while ago that you’d seen something out of common! Do tell me about it, please. Do, do!”

Ninian laughed, glanced at his hostess’ face, and replied:

“That’s a story will keep, and you should be in bed. I don’t want to have my coming harm you when I meant it to do you good. Even such a courageous child as you ought to sleep a great deal.”

She had been courageous, indeed, and had astonished him by a coolness and readiness of observation which would have done credit to a much older person. He began to realize how different she was from other children of her age, and how the hardihood of her rearing had developed qualities that were quite unchildlike. He wondered how she would adapt herself to the habits and thoughts of other girls of her own age, and was not surprised that Mrs. Trent craved such society for her. He wished that he might see her placed in some good school, yet was doubtful if just the right one could be selected for a pupil so different from ordinary. However, that was not his affair, and to relieve the family of his further presence at that late hour undoubtedly was. So he bade them all good-night and went to his room, and very shortly afterward everybody under that roof was sound asleep.

“Oh, what a dreamless, delicious rest I’ve had!” was the visitor’s waking thought. His next, that it must be very late and that he had put his hostess to unnecessary trouble. Then he turned over “for just one more wink” and slumbered on for another couple of hours. This time he had dreams in plenty; and finally roused from one, of beautiful gardens peopled by harmless “spooks,” to a sound of sweet music. By his watch he saw that it was eleven o’clock and remembered that it was Sunday. Also, the music was that of a familiar hymn, played upon a fine piano, which was taken up and sung by a choir of mixed voices, from the childish treble of the two little lads to the stentorian bass of Samson, the mighty.

Hastily dressing, Ninian slipped quietly down the stairs and entered the sunny parlor; where Jessica motioned to a chair which had evidently been reserved for him, and softly approached him with an open hymn book.

It was Mrs. Trent at the piano and her rich soprano voice faultlessly led her straggling chorus, filled for the most part by the men grouped outside on the wide porch. He could see them through the long, French windows, sitting or standing as each felt inclined, but all with that earnest seriousness of demeanor which befitted the day and the task. For task it evidently was to some of them; John Benton, for example. He stood alone, at the most upright post attainable, his book at arm’s length, and his head moving from side to side, following the lines, with a little upward toss of it as he reached the end of each, while from his throat issued most startling tones.

Afterwards, Aunt Sally explained, for she had seen Ninian’s amused survey of her “boy,” that:

“John can no more carry a tune than he can fly, and I’d rather hear him sawin’ his boards than tryin’ to sing. But he feels it’s his duty to help the others along by singing at it and sort of keepin’ Gabriell’ in countenance, seems if. Sweet, ain’t it?”

It had been “sweet” in the guest’s opinion–the whole of the short service; conducted with such simple dignity and reverence by the Madonna-like ranch mistress; the music so well chosen, the few prayers so feelingly offered, and the brief exhortation read from the words of a famous divine who had the rare gift of touching men’s hearts. And he so expressed himself, as well as his surprise, over the belated breakfast which Mrs. Benton served him when the service was over and the household dispersed.

“Yes, I think it’s the nicest thing there is about this dear Sobrante. There’s always been the best sort of inflooence here and that’s why I like my boy, John, to belong. Cass’us, he used to hold the meeting, and after he died I feared Gabriella wouldn’t be equal to it. But bless your soul! if down she didn’t come that first Sunday ’at ever was, and her not havin’ left her bed sence it happened, and sent Wun Lungy out to have the old mission bell rung, a signal. I’ll ever forget it to my dyin’ day, I shan’t. Her like a spirit all in white and a face was both the saddest and the upliftedest ever I see; and them rough men all crowdin’ up to their places, so soft you’d thought they was barefoot ’stead of heavy shod; and Jessie with her arms round the two little ones, and her mother pitchin’ the tune, same as usual, and–and–I declare I can’t keep the tears back yet, rememberin’. Before she was done the whole kerboodle of us was sobbin’ and cryin’ like a passel of young ones, and there was she, with her broken heart, as calm and serene as an angel. Angel is what she is, mostly; with just enough old human natur’ in her to keep her from soarin’ right away. Gabriell’s one them scurce kind makes you glad every time she does a wrong or thoughtless thing, ’cause then you know she ain’t quite perfected yet, and you’re surer of keepin’ her ’on earth. My! the good that woman does beats all. This very day, when she’d lots rather stay to home and visit with you, she’s give orders for Ephraim to have the buck-board got ready to take her twenty miles to see a neighbor who’s sick. She’s fixing a basket of things now, and is in a hurry. So that’s the reason she didn’t come to keep you company herself. Have another piece of chicken–do.”

“Thank you, no. I’ve enjoyed my breakfast hugely, and feel as if I’d never known a moment’s illness.”

There was the sound of wheels just then and Ninian strolled out to offer his service as escort to the ranch mistress in case she might desire it. But the offer was not made, though the lady greeted him with evident pleasure, and even herself glanced toward the vehicle, as if wishing he might ride with her. But there was Ephraim Marsh, in the glory of a white shirt and brilliant necktie, brushed and speckless, and beaming benevolently upon all less favored mortals. It was only upon such errands of mercy that the mistress ever left her home, and there was not a ranchman in her employ but esteemed it an honor to drive for her whither she would.

Ninian saw the state of affairs plainly enough, and, possibly, so did “Forty-niner” himself; who might, under some circumstances, have sacrificed his pleasure for that of the young man. But not now. Ever since he had returned from his long stay in the city, the sensitive old fellow had felt a difference in his surroundings. There was nobody mean enough to tell him of the base suspicions that his fellow workmen had harbored about him, and they fancied that by treating him with more than former friendliness they could offset the unknown injury they had done him. It was this very effusiveness that had roused his suspicions that something was wrong, and he saw in this solitary drive with his beloved mistress a chance to unburden his mind and get her wise opinion on the matter.

So he merely “passed the time of day” with the guest, helped the lady to her place, and stepped up beside her; then chirruped to his horse and was off.

But Ninian was not allowed much disappointment, for there was Lady Jess, clasping his hand and looking up into his face with the brightest of smiles, as she exclaimed: “Just think of it, dear Mr. Sharp! We are to have a long, delightful day together. Mother will not be home before nightfall and I am to do everything I can to make you happy. As if I wouldn’t, even without being bidden! But what shall it be first? Where would you like to walk or ride? Or would you rather rest and read?”