She took the documents from her pockets, and as she arranged them into a flat, compact parcel her fingers felt a familiar shape.
It was a paper of matches.
Just a cheap paper folder, containing waxed paper matches, the kind that tobacconists give away by the millions, but Doris felt the same thrill of delight she would have experienced had she suddenly found Aladdin’s lamp.
“I’ll make a torch from one of these stiff envelopes so I can see to hide the papers,” she said excitedly.
The flare of the match almost blinded her, and the little flame was close to her trembling fingers before she could see to ignite the paper torch.
By the flickering, choking fire Doris pushed and pulled at one of the kegs until she had tilted it far enough to kick the documents beneath it.
As the heavy barrel thudded back into place Doris saw black lettering stenciled on its top:
BLASTING POWDER DANGER KEEP AWAY FROM OPEN FLAME
CHAPTER XXII
Old Danny’s Grudge
“It’s getting darker by the minute!”
Kitty, slouching in her saddle from weariness, looked for the first time without pleasure on the purpling hills, some with their peaks golden in the captured rays of an already vanished sun.
“I can see that I can’t see as well,” Marshmallow responded paradoxically. “Listen, Kitty. No matter what Ben said, I think you ought to go back to the ranch and tell my mother that one of the horses ran away, or something, just so she won’t worry.”
“Marshmallow, I—I just couldn’t,” Kitty cried. “She would see right away I was not telling everything. I want to be right here, doing my share to help find Doris.”
“A fine active share we were given!” Marshmallow snorted.
“Listen! I hear a car!” Kitty exclaimed. “It is coming from the right direction. It must be Miss Bedelle, or someone from her ranch!”
“Listen to that motor!” Marshmallow whistled. “Some speed they’re traveling!”
The approaching car, swaying and bouncing over the rocky road, roared into view. Its headlights were already burning, and Marshmallow recklessly spurred his horse into the middle of the road where the glare shone fully upon him.
“Stop! Miss Bedelle!” he shouted, raising his hand against the approaching motor. “Miss Bedelle!”
The automobile skidded to a halt.
“Who are you?” came a woman’s voice, of a rich sweetness despite the sharp note of anxiety in it.
“I have a message from Ben Corlies!” Marshmallow called. “We are in trouble.”
Instead of Miss Bedelle, a man climbed out of the machine.
“I’ve got ye covered, my lad,” he cried. “Just put up your other hand—and you too, on the other cayuse. Now then, what’s your game?”
“Who—who are you yourself?” Marshmallow stammered. “Isn’t that Miss Bedelle there?”
“Yes, it is, and what of it?” the man replied. “Ben Corlies is up the road—I mean, down the canyon—looking for a girl who has been caught by the oil gang,” Marshmallow explained. “He told us to wait here for you, for Miss Bedelle, I mean, to tell her where he had gone. He said that Ch-Charlie had got away with his car.”
Miss Bedelle herself came forward at this juncture.
“I can’t make head nor tail out of what you are trying to say,” she said. “You may put down your hands. I think you are honest. Now, explain to me again.”
Marshmallow smiled in relief as he lowered his arms.
“My name is Marshall Mallow,” he said. “That is Miss Norris, over there. She and I and Doris Force and Dave Chamberlin, and my mother, came here in your airplane last week to stop some crooks who had stolen the deeds to all this land. This afternoon we spotted them drilling in a hollow a few miles from where we are now. Doris was creeping down close to them when her horse broke loose and we rode to get help, and now Dave and Ben are trying to rescue Doris.”
“Where did you say they was drillin’?” demanded Miss Bedelle’s companion, still keeping his revolver pointed at Marshmallow.
“If you go along this road a little way, you come to a gully that gets deeper and deeper, and then ends up on the side of a big, round hollow,” Kitty explained.
“I know where that is,” the man said.
“Danny, we started out to get Charles, but this looks like more important work,” Miss Bedelle said to the man. “Can’t you help rescue the girl?”
“If that oil feller is mixed up in it, I’ll pitch in just to get even with him,” Danny said, lowering his revolver. “He stampeded that herd of fillies it took us two weeks to round up and separate with his old blasting, he did. And when I told him what I thought of him, he threw a handful of dust in my hoss’s eyes, he did. I aim to get even with that hombre!”
“Please, Mister,” Marshmallow begged. “Don’t tell us about it. Help us find Doris.”
“We must hurry,” urged Kitty, “for Doris may have been captured.”
“A man my age ain’t got no right ridin’ around lookin’ for foolish young girls who ought to stay where they belong and not get mixed up with crooks who ruin good horse-flesh,” Danny retorted. “I aim to get even with that Moon feller, that’s all.”
“This will be a good way to get square with him,” Kitty suggested.
“Well, I’m the man who knows how to pay off a score if I do say it myself,” Danny bragged.
With that, he turned on his high-heeled boots and strode back to the car.
“Don’t you want to hobble your ponies and ride with us?” Miss Bedelle asked.
“Isn’t your car just a two-seater?” Marshmallow inquired.
“Oh, but it will squeeze in more than two,” the opera singer replied.
Investigation proved, however, that although Kitty could easily be accommodated, there was no chance for Marshmallow to win a seat.
“You go, Kitty, and I’ll ride along with your pony,” he suggested.
Kitty was loyal to Marshmallow, however, and said she would ride with him, although every muscle in her body ached because of the unusual exertion.
“I’ll see you later,” Miss Bedelle called, as she put the powerful car into gear and spurted away.
The two riders felt a new lonesomeness as the machine vanished around the next curve.
“For the first time in my life,” Marshmallow moaned, “I regret being a heavyweight. We could all be riding in that car if I were only half my size.
“Half your size, Marshall Mallow!” Kitty cried. “I wouldn’t look at anyone so little.”
“Well, that more than makes up for having to stick to horseback,” Marshmallow laughed. “Gee, Kitty, this would be perfect if it wasn’t for the mess we are in. It’s a grand evening, and you and I could ride all by ourselves.”
“That’s what we are doing as far as I can see,” Kitty retorted, but whether practically or mischievously Marshmallow could not determine.
To herself Kitty said: “I’m so sore and stiff I’ll never be able to sit down or walk or lie flat for the rest of my life. I’m going to be bowlegged forever from riding this horse!”
The