“There’s lots to see, ladies,” he said. “Let’s take it easy, though, and ride out to watch ’em branding some young stock up the line.”
Two hours later, when the girls returned to the ranch yard a little stiff from the unaccustomed riding in high Western saddles, Dave and Marshmallow had not yet returned. Mrs. Mallow was chatting with Mrs. Saylor, exchanging professional secrets and recipes, in the shade of the cottonwoods.
“How far off is the town?” Doris asked, as she sank to the ground beside Mrs. Mallow.
“Only about eight miles,” Mrs. Saylor replied. “It isn’t much of a town. Just the court-house and a theater where we have movies every Saturday night, and a couple of stores and a dozen houses.”
“I wonder what the secret mission is that the boys went on,” Kitty mused.
As if in reply to her query there came a great honking from the road, while into the yard there rolled in triumph a light touring car of popular make with Marshmallow at the wheel.
Behind came Dave, trotting along on his chestnut mare and leading Marshmallow’s skittish black. “Look what I have!” shouted Marshmallow. “Where did you find it?” Kitty sniffed.
“What’s the matter with this car?” Marshmallow demanded. “This was the purpose of our secret mission. We rented this for ten days, and what a job it was to find it, too.”
“How did you?” Mrs. Saylor asked. “I didn’t know there was a car for rent in the town.”
“Oh, it belongs to a chap who is in jail,” Dave explained cheerily. “We went around to see him and he was glad enough to have it earning a little money. But he gets out in ten days, so he’ll want it back then.”
“Oh, I forgive you everything,” Doris laughed. “And I’ll be in your debt in the bargain if you will take me for a ride this minute.”
“Sure thing. Where to?” Marshmallow asked. “Oh, just around,” Doris said vaguely. “Come on, let’s all go.”
The entire group, excepting Mrs. Saylor who could not leave her household duties, climbed into the car and Marshmallow took to the road.
“Drive back to town, Marshmallow,” Doris said. “And right to the court-house. We have no time to lose doing the work we came here for.”
“All right!” Marshmallow agreed, pushing the accelerator to the floorboard. “Here we go.”
Raven Rock was reached in twenty minutes, and could have been thoroughly explored in half that time. The town had but one street, and many of the buildings had false fronts to make them appear twice their height of one story. The court-house was the most imposing structure of all, the only one that was two genuine stories in height, and was surmounted by a mission tower in which hung a bell.
Every building in Raven Rock was of adobe, or sunbaked brick plastered over and whitewashed, or tinted pink, blue and green. The railroad station stood next door, a one-room salmon pink edifice.
Doris left her friends, who were to explore the two shops, while she went about her business in the court-house.
The registrar of deeds proved to be a tall, lanky person in shirt sleeves and blue denim trousers tucked into high-heeled boots. A flowing sandy moustache covered his mouth.
“Yes, Ma’am, and what kin I do fer you?” the official asked, taking his feet from his desk and removing his sombrero in greeting.
Doris looked around for a chair, at which the man jumped up and offered his.
“I’ll sit on the desk,” he said.
Doris explained that she wished to establish title to three tracts of land, the deeds of which had been stolen.
“They were bought about thirty years ago—not less than twenty-nine, not more than thirty-one,” she said. “The owners’ names are Azalea and Iris Gates, unmarried, and a Mr. John Trent.”
“I’m not expert at this job yet,” the official said. “I only been here since last November’s election. I’ll look up the books.”
He opened an old-fashioned safe with a huge key, and removed some ledgers.
“Lucky thing nobody buys much land here, ever,” he said. “These two books got the history of every parcel of land in the county. Now, let’s see.”
He pored over the volumes, while a silence broken only by the buzz of a fly and the crackle of the turning pages settled down upon the room.
At last he turned to Doris.
Her heart sank as he shook his head slowly.
“No, Ma’am,” the registrar said. “There ain’t no record of any property under them names at all.”
CHAPTER XI
Unpleasant Encounters—And Others
“What does that mean?” Dave asked, seriously.
“It means that whoever has the deeds in his possession can establish ownership,” Doris sighed, as she settled back into the car after leaving the registrar.
“But surely you can warn the county official that whoever tries to register the deeds is acting fraudulently,” Mrs. Mallow said.
“We should have to prove it,” Doris replied. “I talked all that over with the registrar. He seems to be a sort of political job-holder, not very ambitious or smart. But he did suggest that someone might have bought the deeds in good faith from whomever stole them, in order to complicate matters.”
Gloomily the five sat in the parked car, its nose to the hitching rack in front of a store which dealt in saddles, drugs, ammunition and radios.
“Not even an ice cream soda in this burg,” Marshmallow groaned. “Warm pop, that’s all.”
Doris glanced listlessly along the hot, dusty street. Half a dozen ponies were hitched here and there, standing with drooping heads. One other car, yellow with alkaline dust, stood in front of the structure which advertised itself as the “Raven Rock Ritz—Meals at All Hours.”
A man emerged from the restaurant and stood for a moment vigorously manipulating a toothpick.
He climbed into the car and backed violently into the road, describing a wide arc.
“Oh! Look out!” Doris cried.
“Hey, you—you—” Marshmallow shouted in alarm.
Crash!
The rear of the automobile struck Marshmallow’s rented car.
Dave leaped out, furious at the stranger’s carelessness.
“No harm done,” he cried. “The bumpers met, thank goodness. Say, stranger, do you think you’re in the middle of the prairie?”
“Whadda you want to park in the middle of the road for?” snarled the stranger, as he shifted gears noisily and tore off up the street.
As Dave watched him go, he clenched his fists, and fumed.
“I’d like to teach him a lesson in driving courtesy, and I will if I ever meet him again.”
“Oh, come on, no harm done,” said the more easygoing Marshmallow. “You’ll never see him again.”
Marshmallow was thoroughly mistaken, although none of the party realized it then. Doris’s intuition suddenly made her remark:
“That man looked downright vicious. I hope he is not connected with any crooked land deals. He seems to be unscrupulous.”
“Let’s go back to the ranch,” Mrs. Mallow said. “I think this village is depressing. And perhaps Mr. Corlies may have called up about the lost handbag.”
Silently