A Silver Girdle

By Claire W. Noall

(Previous chapter)

Chapter 2

Synopsis: Tom Reynolds, a Westerner by birth, but a New Yorker by business, having lost his fortune in the depression, saw a new way of life by taking his family out to a dude ranch bordering the western foot-hills of the Uinta Mountains. He had recently deeded the ranch to his daughter, Eileen. He thought they might capitalize on the horses they kept on the ranch, by establishing a guide camp at Mirror Lake in the Uintas and taking fishing parties into the primitive areas of the mountains. Eileen, a product of finishing school, but a great mountain-lover, was enthusiastic over the idea, as was her small brother, Jim. But Adoree, the wife and mother, abhorred it. She had never been West in her life. Eileen disliked leaving Wayne, her sweetheart, but was glad to go. Suddenly their plans were threatened by an accusation which charged Mr. Reynolds with having deeded the ranch to Eileen with the intent to defraud his creditors. Adams, their leader, threatened suit, and Tom realized he had to prove that he gave Eileen the property in good faith, and before he was aware of his impending financial collapse.

“DADDY, this is like escaping from forty little imps in a nightmare,” gloated Eileen at the wheel of the car.

The Reynolds family was four days out from New York, speeding over the vast, gray stretches of Wyoming on their way to the Uinta Mountains.

“How many little imps?” questioned Jimmie, suddenly ceasing to squint down the road. He had been seeing how long he could sight straight ahead before a curve shut out his view.

“Gosh, Jim, Eileen must think I dreamed those imps of despair that started us on this cross-country journey.”

“Imps of despair; what are you talking about, Daddy?”

“Never mind, Jimmie, they’re talking riddles,” Mrs. Reynolds said; “This whole trip is so weird it’s like a great big riddle to me.”

“What’s the answer, Mummie?” asked Jim, all for the riddle now.

“You tell me. It must be the end of this journey, the ranch and the camp — you know more about that than I do.”

“Gee, that’s not a riddle,” Jimmie’s tone flattened, and he went back to sighting down the road. “Oh look,” he exclaimed, “There’s a big V in those mountains.”

“That’s Alcova Canyon,” said his father. “The PWA’s helping Wyoming to dam the North Platte in that V-shaped gap. All these dry sheep-lands will then be irrigated and cut up for farms.”

“What a relief,” said Dadai. “I’ve never seen such stretches of barren country in my life.”

“Oh, these are just the wide open spaces,” laughed Tom.

“And it’s no place for your frills and laces, Mother,” said Eileen. “But wait until we get into those mountains ahead of us. They’ll make you forget the Adirondacks.”

“They look cold and forbidding to me; they rise so abruptly, and they’re such a sullen blue.”

“That’s because of the cloudy day and their great distance; they’re much farther away than they look,” said Tom.

Dadai shivered and hugged Pim as she looked at the snow on the far-away peaks. “They’re terrifying.”

Pim rolled his licorice eyes and slobbered on his mistress’ hands; he anticipated no cold.

“Don’t worry, Mother; the snow’ll be gone before you know it. You can’t imagine how cozy we’ll be at the ranch. We’ll spend about six weeks there before we go over to Mirror Lake.”

“I think it’ll be fun to ride Rock down to Oakley to school,” said Jimmie. “I wish I could have Star out here, too.”

“Star wouldn’t be adapted to this altitude, Jim. He couldn’t climb the mountains. I don’t care if there isn’t a school for me; I’m going to do my own studying. I’ve got a new geology on the Uinta Mountains,” Eileen announced.

“My child — what ambition! It sets me in a flutter to think about it,” gasped her mother.

“I believe Eileen can do it,” said Tom.

“Just so you don’t turn stuffy, my dear.”

“I’ve turned mountaineer, Mother. Dad, did you say we’re going straight through to Salt Lake before we go up to the ranch?”

“YES. I had my application for the permit to establish the camp sent from the Department of Agriculture to the forest service office in Salt Lake City. And we’ll be going down to Provo to see my friend, Dave Morley; he’s supervisor of the Uintas.”

“What permit?” asked Dadai. “The Wasatch and Ashley national forests are in the Uinta Mountains. I have to get Federal consent to establish a camp as a guide base. But that’s easy. The Government’s first consideration in all the national parks and forests is public camping, and this scheme furthers that; it makes it possible for a lot of people to go into the Uintas who couldn’t do so otherwise.”

“I see! you just get your Uncle Sam’s O.K. to help people play Buffalo Bridger in the national playgrounds.”

“Buffalo Bill, Dadai, and Jim Bridger. Say! How’d you like to meet Jim Bridger, the second? Morley might be the old boy, himself! I’ll introduce him when we get to Provo. We’ll be seeing him at camp, too.”

“It strikes me it’s a case of seeing Salt Lake City, the center of scenic America, before we get away to that mountain hideout of yours,” said Dadai, bored.

“There are a few people in Salt Lake I must see. I’m counting on Hallam, my western lawyer, to take the wind out of Adams’ murky sails. If the dog persists in being nasty about the ranch, I’m not so sure he can’t build up a good case against me.”

“Daddy, he couldn’t take it away from us, could he?”

“He could — and he might do just that if I don’t establish the fact that I gave you that ranch for the pure and simple reason that you fell for it, head over heels.”

“Will that be so hard?”

“Without good proof, yes.”

“Haven’t you got a witness?” asked Dadai tremulously hopeful in spite of her firm resolution to abide by everything western from chaps to caterpillars.

“Now Mother!” exclaimed Eileen.

“I didn’t say a word to Mac before I left last fall. We were busy discussing plans for the winter and some calves that had come in too late to dispose of.”

“Who’s Mac?” asked Adoree.

“Greg McClain, the ranch foreman. He looks after the place and keeps his eye on the range and the stock. I didn’t think it would make any difference to him whether he knew I had promised the property to Eileen or not.”

“It surely made a difference to me, Daddy. You made me the proudest girl in the world. Ever since you gave it to me, I’ve thought of it as my ranch. Last winter, I invited Wayne to drive out this summer and bring Bird and Jeanne. Of course, it’s different now . . . they wouldn’t get the same thrill that they would have when it was just a dude.” Eileen looked a bit wistful in spite of herself.

“HERE’S hoping I can prove it’s yours, Eileen; so that you can ask them some other time. But I didn’t have the deed made out or the abstract brought up to date until just before the crash. I had no idea that everything would be lost, and I certainly didn’t realize that turning Timber Toes over to you would be the means of saving it.”

“Timber Toes! That name!” exclaimed Adoree.

“Don’t you know a good name when you hear it, Mother? That’s picturesque. And you’ll see why I called it that when we come to it,” defended Eileen.

“How I’m going to prove my intentions, I don’t know,” said Tom.

“Daddy! I have it!” shouted Eileen with an exultant gleam. “Do you remember that old Chinaman we passed last summer in the canyon leading down from the Granddaddies when we were on our fishing trip?”

“Who?”

“You know, Daddy. You told him you were going to make an Indian out of me.”

“Oh yes,” said Tom, as the light dawned, “Ming Low. I do remember!”

“These fantastic people! Chinamen, Indians — what next! Who’s Ming Low?” asked Adoree.

“He is colorful — pure-bred, native Mongolian. Can’t speak English, but understands it; talks Injun like a born papoose. He runs the trading post on the Uinta Reservation. I do remember, Eileen, now you mention it. He’ll testify!”

“To what? That Eileen’s an Indian?”

“No! That I promised her the ranch — and that I did it last summer.”

“That was the day that I pulled the six-pounder out of Wall Lake, Mummie. Daddy was so proud of me and I loved everything so, he promised me the ranch. And then we passed old Lowie Ming and he was so tickled to see Daddy, Daddy broke down for once in his life and let out his plans and told him I was going native because he’d just given me a ranch all my own. Mingie jabbered away in half Indian and half Chinese and you’d have thought that both he and Dad could understand everything the other said.”

“You can just bet he understood enough to testify! And Ming Low’s word’s as solid as Gibraltar.”

“I suggest you get an interpreter lest it be too solid,” said Adoree. “Gibraltar’s no pebble.”

TOM had been waiting for some time in Morley’s plain little office. The supervisor of the Uinta forest was busy. Eileen had just come in to tell him that her mother knew more than half the citizens of Provo by sight; she’d seen them pass down University Avenue in full review, and she was bored.

Just then Morley appeared in the doorway of the inner office, slight, ruddy, grizzled, and with a merry twinkle in his eyes. He was preceded by a very tall and straight young man, wearing a green uniform, and holding a broad-brimmed felt hat with three dents in the crown. “See you at Rainbow Lake on the first of June, Baring,” Morley was saying.

“Rainbow Lake — can he mean my Rainbow Lake?” thought Eileen, taking in the situation at a glance. A green uniform, the pine tree badge, the office of the Uinta national forest supervisor. Instantly she pictured the one and only Rainbow Lake in the world to her, a lovely sheet of water lying where the trails cross which lead to the different lake-basins in the Uintas. A dazzling glance scintillated from her blue eyes.

But, even though there was also but one Rainbow Lake for Brent Baring, there was no sparkle in Eileen’s eyes for him. His own were steel gray and almost that cold, or so thought Eileen, as he walked straight past her.

Of course . . . he doesn’t know, but up went her chin as she thought, “We may meet again, Mister Forest Ranger.” This time her eyes glinted.

“Tom, you old coyote,” said Morley, grasping Reynolds’ hand. “What are you doing out here this time o’ year?” he drawled in a leisurely twang. There was warmth enough in Morley’s greeting to thaw an iceberg. The atmosphere expanded; Eileen was proud of her father.

She went out to ask her mother and Jimmie to come in, while Tom explained his plans.

Morley was dumbfounded that Tom had hit rock bottom with his finances, but he said he’d certainly hit on a capital idea to defeat the depression. And would he be pleased to meet the wife. He’d always wanted to know her.

Adoree came in with Eileen, petite, dainty, immaculate; her red hair and lovely dark eyes stunningly set off by her wood-brown traveling costume. Pim was snuggled in one arm, his tail wagging despite the gentle pressure she brought to bear on it.

“I’m right proud to meet you, Mrs. Reynolds, I been hankerin’ fer this pleasure a long time,” said Morley, his cheery grin showing a row of gnarled teeth. But he couldn’t quite control the surprise that assailed him. “And so you’re going camping?”

Adoree’s eyes narrowed. “My husband says we are.”

“I’ve noticed your husband usually does what he says he’ll do. He’s got a great scheme. I wish you luck.”

“Whew!” whistled Morley under his breath as they left. “Tom needs a horse roper and he’s got a wood nymph. And what is she going to do with that pinny-faced, goggle-eyed abbreviation of a dog!” He turned to talk to a group of men from the fish and game department who were planning to test some Uinta lake waters for planting trout at an altitude of eleven thousand feet.

Early the next morning the Reynoldses retraced their journey through Parley’s Canyon. As they crossed the summit of the canyon the snow was banked in piles at the side of the road, the last remnant of the snow-plow’s winter work.

“We may have some trouble in reaching the ranch-house. The altitude there is not quite as high as it is here, but it’s close to seven thousand feet. But this is a main highway and the road is kept open the year round. Our house is at the upper end of a long valley, and it’s miles off the highway,” said Tom.

“What will we do? We can get there in the car, can’t we?” asked Adoree anxiously.

“I’m afraid not. How’d you like to scoot up there on a pair of skis or snowshoes?”

“Tom! What next?”

“Lots of things you’ve never thought of before,” he laughed. “But, we’ll probably leave the car at Oakley and get a team to take us up in a wagon.”

“How primitive,” sighed Adoree.

“Oh, for fun!” said Jimmie.

“What a lark!” said Eileen, “I wish Wayne could have come with us now.”

“If Wayne were all I had to hanker for, I’d not be bothered much with longing,” teased her father.

WHEN they arrived at Oakley they did find the road impassable to cars. The season was late and the melting snow was too slushy for safety over the narrow ungraded road they had to traverse. Jimmie had always called it his giant coaster. “The downer parts were as steep as the upper,” he said.

They transferred their belongings from their car to a white-top, and packed in as large a supply of groceries as there was room for. Tom helped Dadai, he always called Adoree that, to climb up to the front seat, her first experience in setting foot on the iron step of a spring wagon.. She gasped and held her breath before she finally reached the seat, but once there, Tom tucked her in in a big blanket and told her he was glad Adams hadn’t spotted the fur coat she was wearing. Eileen and Jimmie had no such difficulties. They stowed away against the side of a tarpaulin covering a pile of blankets that was stacked on the second seat; and Tom took up the reins.

“We’ll just be able to make the house by dark,” he said. “We could do it in an hour in the car.”

They ate their lunch without getting out of the wagon, though the rocks were dry at the side of the river. Even Adoree was hungry. The clear thin atmosphere had sharpened her appetite.

The road gradually ascends a long and narrow valley between two rows of mountains, giant feelers, thrust forward by the Uintas in their last stand to the west. Between these mountains the Weber River glides gently down. Edging its banks a number of summer homes and small ranches dot the river lands.

Nestled at the base of Reid’s Peak, and heading this long valley, lies Timber Toes. It stretches far away to the north of the river and west of the peak, covering over a thousand acres of mountainous, but good grazing land. Reid’s Peak is but one of those towering isolated summits which silhouette the western end of the Uintas. Mount Baldy’s huge dome scoops out a great round piece from the sky to the southeast.

Baldy’s eastern face rises almost perpendicularly to a naked summit, but it dips a well-forested and less precipitous base into the lapping waters of Mirror Lake.

These mountains raise a barrier which shuts out all access from the upper end of the valley of the Weber except by horseback, or — shank’s ponies. A steep ridge divides Timber Toes and Mirror Lake. Numerous canyons and ravines crisscross at all angles to make the climb from the valley to the lake more difficult for both pack and saddle horses, but this is the trail that Tom intended to follow about the first of June.

“Now, Mother, now you can see why I called the ranch Timber Toes,” exclaimed Eileen as they neared the lower boundary of their land at long last.

THE line of mountains to the south of them was noticeably higher here. They were densely wooded with dark, shaggy spruce trees except at their base where they gave way to clumps of young aspens. There was no delicate green to contrast with the dark mass of the spruce now, but their bare gray outline was in even greater contrast than when Eileen had first seen them in the summer time. The aspens huddled together, scalloping the foot of the mountains like the toes of a giant animal, five rounded projections here, and five there, all of them sliding down the bottom of the slope and chucking into the valley.

“See, see that great mass of spruce. That’s my old mastodon; in the summer time his feet are shod in green — that’s why I called my ranch Timber Toes, Mother.”

“Very interesting, my dear, but I hope we’ll soon be getting to the house that protects you from such monsters of the forest.”

“We’ll be there in a jiffy, Mummie. I can’t wait to show it to you;” Jimmie was triumphant, he was so happy to be approaching the cabin.

They drove on, however, eventually crossing the river for the last time. Jimmy hadn’t realized that distance may be a matter of time. Now they headed north.

There, against the mountain, with bare interlacing branches of cottonwoods and ghostly aspens crowding it against a background of spruce stood the house, white in the deepening twilight.

As they drew nearer Mrs. Reynolds saw that it was made of split, barked pine. Weathering had mellowed the polished wood until it glistened. Blue smoke was curling from the rough rock chimneys.

“Warmth! And light, Dadai! That’s Mac! He must have received my letter. He and his family have quarters in a cottage off to the south of the house. Oh darling, it’s our home, now. We’ll build ourselves into this place as we never could in our gilded mansion in New York. Won’t you fill the first niche with happiness?”

“Mother, wait until you see the chintz chair in the ingle-nook — the fireplace is just ducky,” beamed Eileen.

“Wait until you see my birdhouses. Jeddie Mac helped me make ’em,” exclaimed Jimmie.

The dogs came bounding down the driveway. Dadai hugged Pim; Tom shouted, “Hello there, Chance! Spot! Hello there, old fellows!” He was almost as noisy as they were.

Mac was effusive in his greetings. He was a great, spare fellow, fearless as all get-out. “By cracky, I’m glad to see you, Mr. Reynolds. Shake the old pumphandle!”

Buxom Mrs. McClain’s simple warmth seemed tremendously genuine to Adoree, who was worn, weary, and as nervous as a chipmunk. Mrs. Mac’s open face revealed true goodness in every line. Dadai had never seen a woman like her before.

When Mrs. McClain saw this fragile creature she was a thousand times thankful she had come over to get supper for Mr. Reynolds and his family. “Poor darlin’ — she don’t fit,” she summed up in her mind. “But Miss Eileen’s friskier’n ever. It’s shore sweet t’ see her agin.”

Jed had already captured Jimmie to tell him about the early colts.

“By George, it’s good of you to come over, Mrs. McClain. It’s like old times, seeing you here,” said Tom.

“Mrs. Reynolds can sit right down here and get herself toasted by the fire while I set out your bite,” said Mrs. McClain, hardly realizing she was talking to the mistress of this eagle’s nest.

“Dadai, come upstairs first. I want you to see our room!” said her husband.

WEARILY she climbed the circular staircase of polished hickory, running up from the great living room. Eileen was standing at the top of the stairs. “Isn’t it just too woodsy, Mother! Did you dream a mountain cabin could be like this; water, light, bathroom, and these adorable bedrooms. But, daddy, the water won’t turn on.

“Of course not, silly. Would you want the pipes to freeze in the winter? We’ll have to carry the water in until we get the plumbing fixed.

“But come in here sweetheart,” added Tom, putting his arm around his wife. “Look!”

Even poor, tired Dadai could not withhold the joy that sprang to her heart when she saw her bedroom. Colonial bed, dressing table to match, early American chintz-covered chairs, rag rugs, and wide windows that looked off to the south towards high mountains, and to the west over miles and miles of gradually lowering hills until they in turn were shut off by the glistening, snow-capped chain of the Wasatch.

“Oh Tom . . .” Dadai began to cry, but she smiled through her tears.

“You will learn to like it, won’t you dear!” said Tom.

A scrumptious supper of fresh young mutton and beaten biscuit was the next stepping-stone to Dadai’s still questionable happiness in this strange, mountain region.

“I’ve never tasted meat like this,” she said, weighing its flavor in her mouth with delight. “It’s delicious! And such biscuits!”

Florella McClain beamed.

Eileen could hardly

wait for morning to try Nitana, her own thoroughbred, a beautiful mahogany-coated mare with a white star on her forehead. She had just enough farm strain to temper her high spirits and keep her from being skittish. She was intelligent and bred to the altitude and to mountain climbing. Nitana whinnied as Eileen opened the door of the shed. At sight of her the night before she had nickered long and low, and had rubbed her nose against her mistress’s shoulder. Now, as Eileen patted her arched neck, she wrinkled her nose and bared her teeth to take the apple, purchased specially for the pet.

Eileen, willow-supple, flung herself into the saddle. She was dressed warmly for protection against the cold, as she was planning to follow the tributary stream that came down the ravine back of the house.

Her mother gasped as she saw her ride off alone in the deep snow.

A mile from the house, Nitana clambered over a fallen tree, picked her way around an enormous glacial boulder, and lowered to the stream-bed. The water was flowing back against the white curve of the banks. The snow scattered as the mare lifted her feet, but suddenly Eileen heard other crunching crystals. Instantly she was all eyes. There, through the bare branches of the trees she saw another horse, but no rider.

She knew the only men on the ranch were out with her father. She drew in the bridle, taut and alert.

Just then, so close to a fallen log that was jutting into the stream, she could hardly distinguish him, she saw someone in an olive-drab overcoat. On his head was a tri-dented felt hat.

“Hello, there,” called Eileen, startled. “Aren’t you out of bounds?”

“I think not, Miss,” said the stranger, touching his hat. With his other hand, he braced himself against the log, and half turning, scrambled up the bank.

“Oh,” said Eileen, and stopped short. She was looking into a pair of steel-gray eyes. “This isn’t the place,” she barely breathed, as she observed the green uniform under the O. D. coat. “It was to have been at Rainbow Lake,” she whispered to herself with motionless lips.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, aloud, “I thought you might be trespassing- — this happens to be my land.”

“Not trespassing, but looking for trespassers, Miss — .”

“Miss Reynolds, sir,” she said. Again, the light in Eileen’s eyes deepened as she smiled.

But the ranger’s were still steel-cold. The only thing that kept his bow from being actually curt, as he acknowledged her friendliness, was the faintest infusion of recognition. And then a series of mental questions tumbled over themselves in their haste: “Where in the Samhill have I seen that girl . . . that yellow hair . . . those blue eyes?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” ” Wh — wh — what? Do you read minds?”

“No. I read signs. And I venture to say that under that overcoat of yours, directly over your heart, you wear a badge with a cameo-carved pine tree on it.”

“Right you are, Miss — Gypsy — Reynolds,” he said with more daring than he knew he possessed in the presence of any girl, and with an ounce of agreeability in spite of himself. “I’m Baring, Brent Baring, forest ranger. Did you say this is your land?” His surprise lessened his restraint still further.

“I did, Mr. Baring. But I didn’t know I was shooing an official of the United States Government away from it.” Eileen’s authority succumbed.

“I came to do some shooing, myself;” he actually smiled.

“Oh?”

“Yes. You see, the trout swim upstream to spawn with the first cracking of the ice. They lazy about in the shallow waters for some time after the eggs have been gathered for the hatcheries, before they go back to deep water. As the egg-gatherers depart, the poachers enter, and plenty thick. They’re anything but lazy just this time of year. I’ve been covering these streams, looking for them before I go up into the mountains yonder.”

“Then I’m not to be surprised if I meet a desperado in these parts?”

“Well, hardly a desperado. But, really, I didn’t know there were any female ranchers hereabouts: did you say, your land?”

As he turned friendly, she turned fiery. “There aren’t! But there’s going to be at least one!” Eileen’s ire was up.

Is that the kind you are — female! thought she. Brent’s cold defense was down. “I have seen you somewhere, haven’t I?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” And up went that chin of hers.

She flicked Nitana’s shoulder — the mare’s tail twitched as she disappeared around the huge glacial boulder.

Baring made a flying leap into his saddle, and headed for a low ridge on his brindle horse. “Good day . . . Miss Gypsy Reynolds,” he said as if she could hear him. He looked over his shoulder, but there was no mahogany-colored mare or her rider in sight against the bluish-white snow.

(To be continued)