The Forbidden Trail Part 31

"Clarissa," exclaimed Von Minden, with for the first time a note of pity in his voice, "you've gone crazy."

His wife smiled sardonically. "I'm going to see what is in the strong box, if I follow you to China," and with this she turned on her heel and disappeared into her tent. Nor did she come out again that night.

"Now, Mr. von Minden," said Roger sternly. "I tell you quite frankly, that you're not welcome here. If Miss Preble hadn't interceded for you, I'd hand you over to the authorities."

Crazy Dutch nodded affably. "You're quite right. I deserve it. But I've had a touch of the sun and for a moment I was out of my head. In this lonely country we must bear with each other."

"The way you bear with your wife, I suppose," suggested Ernest.

Von Minden looked half apprehensively over his shoulder at his wife's tent, then he said in a confidential whisper, "Now _she_ is crazy and has been for years. Only she's crazy all the time so the only thing to do is to keep away from her. She was a very good, hard working woman, once."

"So I should judge from what she tells us," Roger's voice was grim. "It strikes us that you treated her as if she were a horse and not a woman.

But that's not our business. Why did you come back here, Von Minden?"

"I came to apologize."

"Well, I accept the apology. Now you had better go on about your business and I'll get your wife back to Phoenix, some way."

Von Minden drew himself up. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Moore, I'm not in the habit of being spoken to in this manner. Apologize at once!"

Roger turned red. "Why you infernal little shrimp--" he began.

But Ernest interrupted. "Keep your temper, Rog. All this isn't worth seeing red for."

"Of course it isn't," said the little German briskly. "Now I'm planning to spend the evening with the Prebles and then I'll go on into the range. Peter, my dear, I'll give you a drink now. We were out in all this storm, gentlemen, but we don't mind them, Peter and I. There is a beauty about them, these pa.s.sions of the desert. How are the Prebles?"

The two men started. "We were going up there," said Ernest. "d.i.c.k just went driving by at a gallop, without a word, toward Archer's Springs."

Von Minden scowled, started to speak, was silent, then said: "What do you think was the matter?"

"Let's go find out," urged Ernest.

The three men, Peter trailing at the rear, started hurriedly along the half obliterated trail toward the ranch.

The stillness after the day of warfare was heavenly. The violet of the sky had changed to the blue of larkspur, that now was shot with lacey streamers, rose pink from the setting sun. An oriole, balancing itself on d.i.c.k's line fence, poured forth a melody of transporting sweetness.

"O, by Jove!" exclaimed Roger suddenly, "look at d.i.c.k's alfalfa!"

The oriole fluttered away as they approached the fence. The field had not drifted badly. The draw to the north had prevented that. But the bright green shadow on the yellow sand of which Gustav had told them in the morning, was no more. A huge blight lay on the field with every tender plant blackened and dead.

"Poor old d.i.c.k!" groaned Ernest. Then he added plaintively, "But he's no tenderfoot. He knows desert storms. Why did he attempt it?"

"A storm like this, this time of year, is unheard of," said Von Minden.

"Close to the mountain like this, d.i.c.k was choosing a good spot. See there are few drifts. Poor fellow!"

There were actual tears in Ernest's blue eyes as he looked at the blackened field. "Let's get to the girls," he urged.

At the corral gate they met Gustav.

"What's the trouble, Gustav?" cried Roger.

"d.i.c.k he vent to the field down to see how the alfalfa vas, then he came running like a mad man. He scolded Fraulein Charley like it vas her fault, then he ran to the corral, hitched up and vent."

"But didn't you try to stop him?" demanded Roger.

"Not Fraulein Charley. She just sat on the step and little Felicia on her lap and say nothing. But I vent to the corral to talk to d.i.c.k and he told me to go to h.e.l.l. He vas a mad man, I tell you. Now I go milk."

Charley, at the sound of voices, came out to the steps. "h.e.l.lo, Uncle Otto," she called. The men looked up at her. Her tanned cheeks were flushed, her fine square shoulders were tense. But her voice was gay:

"Have you and Mr. Moore had your duel?"

"It's postponed," replied Crazy Dutch.

Felicia scrambled past her sister and ran down to Roger: "d.i.c.k went away mad," she exclaimed. "He scolded Charley and me awful and made me cry. I hate to cry. It hurts my insides so."

Charley had joined them now. "Poor d.i.c.k!" she said. "That alfalfa field was dearer to him than any of you know. He'll cool down by the time he reaches Archer's and brings back more seed. Why can't you all stay to supper here?"

"It's too much trouble for you," protested Ernest, weakly.

"You can all help," said Charley. "Please all stay." Something in the eagerness of her low voice touched Roger as it did the other men.

"Of course, we're delighted to stay," he exclaimed, tossing Felicia to his shoulder. "Come along, chicken, we'll split some wood for sister."

"And me, I must wash myself," said Crazy Dutch, "and give Peter some hay."

"And me, I'll help get the supper," said Ernest.

CHAPTER VIII

THE LONELY HUNTER

As soon as Ernest and she were alone in the kitchen, Charley whispered: "How about Mrs. von Minden?"

"Oh, they had a fine row. She wants his strong box. She said at first that she didn't know what she wanted but later confessed that it was her marriage certificate plus something the Yogis were to put her wise to."

"Poor old soul!" exclaimed Charley softly. "What tragedy do you suppose is back of all this?"

"I don't know. But none of us urged the poor old girl to come up here with us. He says he's going to spend the night with you, but if d.i.c.k isn't here--"

"That's all right," said Charley. "He stays here often when d.i.c.k is gone. He and I are great friends. I shall say nothing at all about his wife, unless he does."

"That's the best cue, I think," agreed Ernest; "I'm so darned sorry about the alfalfa, Charley."

"Pioneer luck," replied the girl shaking her dark head. "I feel rather heartsick about it myself. If only d.i.c.k wouldn't go to pieces so! That's what worries me, because we may have many failures before the alfalfa catches and he is going to have such a hard time."