“Wonder where Marshmallow and Dave are?” each said aloud. “They were talking here a minute ago. Oh—good morning, Mrs. Mallow.”
“Good morning. Are the boys up yet?”
Mrs. Mallow was dressed for comfort, not for action, in a summery cotton print frock.
“I’m worried, girls,” she said. “I think unpleasant news is a bad appetizer for breakfast, but I have lost my handbag!”
“Oh, was there money in it?” Doris cried.
“Yes, there was,” Mrs. Mallow admitted. “Except for the bank letter of credit, which I kept in my suitcase, there was all the money I took along. Over a hundred dollars, and my rings and other personal things.”
“Oh, you surely must have left it in the auto last night,” Kitty said soothingly. “We will call Ben Corlies—if there is such a thing as a telephone around.”
“I hope so, but I just can’t remember having the bag at all,” Mrs. Mallow frowned. “The last time I recall having it was way back in Indiana.”
Doris looked at her left hand, where the great ruby given to her by the Gates twins flashed fire. She was glad that precious jewel was not mislaid, for its romantic history made it valuable to her far above its not inconsiderable worth in money.
“Hey, slow-pokes!”
The hail came from a doorway opposite the worried little group.
It was Marshmallow, announcing breakfast.
“Go ahead, you two,” Doris said. “I’ll just search our room to make sure your bag did not get mixed up with our things last night, and then I’ll join you.”
While the others began breakfast Doris searched through the effects of Kitty and herself, but no handbag was found.
* * * *
At the breakfast table, the lost bag was the main topic of conversation, with Mrs. Saylor listening sympathetically.
“You can telephone to the G Clef Ranch, all right,” the pleasant woman said. “The ’phone is in the sitting room. I’ll show you where.”
Breakfast over, Doris called up the opera singer’s ranch, but learned that no one in authority was at home. Miss Bedelle was already trying out her new airplane, and Ben himself was supervising some tractor work a mile from the house.
“Please explain to Mr. Corlies that we think we left the bag in his car,” Doris repeated. “And have him call up Mrs. Mallow at the Crazy Bear Ranch whether he finds it or not.”
With that the travelers had to be satisfied.
“If you girls want horses just walk over to the corral and whichever one of the ranch-hands is out there, tell him what kind of mount you want,” Mrs. Saylor told Kitty and Doris.
The boys had already started out.
“It’s sort of selfish of them to run off without waiting for us,” Kitty pouted.
The corral, built of skinned pinon poles, /housed a dozen wiry cow ponies varying from coal black to pure white and spotted “pintos,” or “paints,” as the girls learned the cowboys called them.
“There is no one here,” Doris said, looking around. “I wonder where Dave and Marsh could have gone?”
“Here come a couple of cowboys now,” Kitty pointed.
Two chap-clad and sombrero-topped figures shambled around the corner of a long, low building, and a third hurried and joined them. The last comer seemed to be in some sort of pain, from the way in which he pressed his hands to his side and staggered as he walked.
“Why—it’s— Doris, look! It’s Marshmallow and Dave!”
Doris stared at Kitty’s command and burst out laughing.
“What’s the matter?” Marshmallow demanded, removing the “ten-gallon” hat and running a finger around the belt of the too-snugly-fitting chaps.
“Yes, why the mirth?” Dave asked.
The genuine cowboy, whose agony proved to be that of mirth and not of pain, wiped his eyes.
“They—they—put the chaps on backwards first,” he gasped. “Excuse me, ladies, for laughin’ at your friends, but it shore is queer to watch dudes puttin’ on trappin’s for the first time.”
“What do you mean, dudes?” demanded Marshmallow, nettled. “Do you think this costume is fancy?”
“’Scuse me, sir,” the cowboy grinned. “Dudes is what we call all tenderfeet. No, them clothes is the real article. Ike and Lew won’t miss ’em. Now, you-all want hosses?”
He took down a lasso from a peg on a corral post, and climbed over the bars.
“Better let me pick ’em for you,” he said.
“I—I’m not sure I want to ride,” Kitty whispered as the horses, ears back, teeth bared and manes flying, dashed around the enclosure.
“They do look vicious,” Doris agreed.
The cowboy’s wrist jerked and his noose settled around the neck of one white-and-black pony, which instantly stood still. The others bunched in a corner and rolled their eyes.
“Here’s a gentle bronch,” the cow-hand said, leading the animal to the bars and slipping a halter over its head.
In that manner four horses were caught, and one by one saddled, bridled and led forth.
Kitty chose a buckskin and Doris the “pinto.” Dave drew a rangy chestnut mare, and Marshall won a black one, which insisted on waltzing constantly.
“You’ll soon tire her out,” grinned the horse wrangler, eyeing Marshmallow’s substantial form.
“Where shall we go first?” Kitty asked.
“Dave and I are riding off on a little secret mission toward town,” Marshmallow said. “So you two go off somewhere by yourselves.”
“As if we wanted you tagging around anyhow,” sniffed Kitty.
“Perhaps you will guide us around?” Doris smiled at the cowboy, ignoring the two city boys. “It would be best for us to have an experienced man with us at first.”
The cowboy blushed, grinning broadly.
“I’m shore proud to ride with you, ladies,” he declared.
Dave stopped in his tracks.
“Maybe—say, you go on ahead to Raven Rock, and I’ll go along with the girls and take care of them,” Dave announced to Marshmallow.
“Hey, what’s the idea?” that young man snorted indignantly. “What will I do with the horse?, It’s a two-man job, this!”
“Oh, all right,” grumbled Dave, shooting a sharp glance at the ecstatic cowboy. “Don’t go far, Doris.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Doris replied sweetly. “We’ll be in safe company.”
She wheeled her pony and cantered across the yard, followed by Kitty, while the cowboy hastily vaulted the corral to the back of a surprised broncho which began vigorously to object to its rider.
“Say, there’s a real Wild West show! Bareback bucking!” Marshmallow exclaimed.
“Come on, we must hurry,” Dave said curtly, and dug spurs into his mount. The animal took its bit between its teeth and streaked off in a cloud of dust.
“Hi, wait up!” yelled Marshmallow, slapping his pony with the reins and starting in pursuit.