The Girl Aviators on Golden Wings Part 14

"Why that's so, isn't it?" cried Mr. Bell, glad of this way out of his difficulty. After that there was nothing for Peggy to do but to give in gracefully.

The two girls were ready to start back when Mr. Bell reached into his pocket and drew forth a bit of carefully folded paper.

"I'll entrust this to you," he said to Peggy; "it's for my brother.

It's a correct description of the mine's location so far as we have explored it. The plan is a duplicate one, and I'll feel safer if I know that, beside the original, my brother has a copy. In the event of one being lost a lot of work would be saved."

Soon after this, adieus were said, and the aeroplane soared high into the clear, burning air above the desolate ridges. Under Peggy's skillful hands the plane fairly flew. At the pace they proceeded it was not long before the willows, a dark clump amid the surrounding ocean of glittering waste, came into view. A veteran of the air could not have made a more accurate or an easier landing that did Peggy. The big machine glided to the ground as softly as a feather, just at the edge of the patch of shade and verdure which made up Steer Wells.

That afternoon, after the midday meal, a cloud of dust to the southward excited everybody's attention. After scanning the oncoming pillar closely Alverado announced that it was caused by a party of hors.e.m.e.n, and it soon became evident that the willow clump was their destination.

"Oh, mercy, I do hope they aren't Indians and we shall all be murdered in our beds!" cried Miss Prescott in considerable alarm.

The good lady clasped her hands together distractedly.

"We might be murdered in our hammocks, aunt," observed Peggy, indicating two gaudy specimens of the hanging lounges which had been suspended under the shade; "but only very lazy people could be murdered in bed at two o'clock in the afternoon."

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Miss Prescott began with dignity, when Alverado, who, like the rest, had been watching the advancing cavalcade eagerly, suddenly announced:

"They vaqueros--cowboys!"

"Cowboys!" shrilled Miss Prescott. "That's worse. Oh, dear, I wish I'd never come to the land of the cowboys!"

"You speak as if they were some sort of animal, aunt," laughed Peggy. "I daresay there is no reason to be alarmed at them. I've always heard that they were very courteous and deferential to ladies."

"What would cowboys be doing away out here where there isn't a cow or a calf or even an old mule in sight?" inquired Jess.

"Maybe on wild horse hunt," rejoined Alverado with a shrug.

"Are there wild horses hereabouts then?" asked old Mr. Bell, and then quite absent-mindedly he began murmuring:

"Ma.s.seppa, Ma.s.seppa tied to a wild horse; In the way of revenge, as a matter of course."

"Plentee wild horse," was the Mexican's rejoinder. "They cross the desert sometimes to get fresh range. Cowboy trail them and cut them off and la.s.so them. Then they break them to ride."

"Oh, what a shame!" cried Peggy, impulsively.

"No shame go-od," declared the Mexican stolidly; "bye an' bye wild horse all gone. Good."

"I think it's hateful," declared Jess; "just the same I should like to see a wild horse hunt," she added with girlish inconsistence.

"So should I if they'd let them all go again," agreed Peggy.

Old Mr. Bell laughed, for which he was gently reproved by Miss Prescott.

"I shall bring this matter to the attention of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals back home," she said somewhat snappishly.

But there was no opportunity to exchange more remarks on the subject.

Uttering a shrill series of "ye-o-o-ows" the riders bore down on the little desert camp. From the heaving sides of the ponies, plastered with the gray alkali of the desert, clouds of steam were rising.

Their riders, with mouths screened from the biting dust with red handkerchiefs, were seemingly engaged in a race for the willow clump where water and shade awaited them.

"Yip-yip-y-e-e-e-e-e-e!"

The sound came raucously from behind a dozen bandaged mouths as the band swept down oil tile camp. And then suddenly:

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A volley of revolver shots resounded as the jubilant horse hunters-- as Alverado had shrewdly suspected they were--dashed forward.

"Oh, Land of Goshen!" screamed Miss Prescott, as, with her fingers in her ears, she fled into her tent and pulled the flap to. Peggy and Jess stood their ground boldly enough, although Jess's face turned rather pale and her breath heaved in perturbation.

"Keep still, honey, they won't hurt you," comforted Peggy amid the uproar.

Suddenly the leader of the hors.e.m.e.n drew his pony up abruptly, throwing the cat-like little beast almost back upon his haunches.

"Boys! Ladies!" he shouted.

Instantly every sombrero came off and was swept round each rider's head in a broad circle. It was a pretty bit of homage and the girls bowed in acknowledgment of it.

"Hooray!" yelled the hors.e.m.e.n as they flung themselves from their steaming but still active little mounts.

"They're not so bad after all," breathed Jess, still, however, clinging to Peggy's shirt-waisted arm.

But the leader, hat in hand, was now advancing toward the two girls.

The others hung back looking rather sheepish. They were not in the habit of meeting ladies, and to encounter two young and pretty girls in the midst of the alkali was evidently a shock to them. The leader was a stalwart figure of a man, who might have stepped from the advertising matter of a Wild West show. Leather chaparejos encased his long legs. Round his throat was loosely knotted the red handkerchief which they all wore when riding to protect their mouths and nostrils from the dust. His shirt was once blue, but it was so covered with the gray of the alkali that it was difficult to tell what color it might have been originally. For the rest he wore a big sombrero, the leather band of which was spangled with stars worked in silver wire, and a pair of workmanlike-looking gauntlets covered his hands.

"Beg pardon, ladies, for makin' sich a rough house," he said hesitating, "but, yer see, ther boys wall we didn't hardly expec'

ter fin' ladies present."

"I'm sure we enjoyed it very much," rejoined Peggy quite at ease and her own cool self now "It was like--er--like Buffalo Bill--"

"Only more so," put in Jess, with her most bewitching smile.

"Um--er--quite so," rejoined the plainsman, rather more at ease now; "ye see, we're a party that's out on a horse hunt. We got on ther tracks of the band ther other side of ther San Quentin range, and figgering thet they'd cut across here ter git to ther feeding grounds on ther Pablo range on t'other side of ther desert we stopped in here fer water an' shade."

"My name's Bud Reynolds," he volunteered tentatively.

Peggy took the hint conveyed.

"And we are part of a scientific exploring party," she said.

"College gals, by gee!" breathed Bud in what he thought was an inaudible aside.

"The party is in charge of Mr. James Bell. This is his brother, Mr.

Peter Bell--"

"Glad ter meet yer, I'm sure," said Bud with a low bow as the poet hermit stepped forward.

"I am Miss Margaret Prescott; this is my chum, Miss Bancroft, and there is my aunt, Miss Sally Prescott--"