A Silver Girdle

By Claire W. Noall

(Previous chapter)

Chapter 6

Synopsis: Tom Reynolds having lost his fortune, takes his family from their New York home to a dude ranch in Utah bordering the Uinta Mountains, which he had deeded to his daughter, Eileen, just before his financial crash. The title is threatened by an accusation of intent to defraud. To save the ranch, Tom must establish the fact that the deed was made in good faith. In addition to their life on the ranch, the Reynolds family establish a summer camp at the end of the motor road at Mirror Lake in the Uintas to supply pack trains and guide fishermen into the interior of the high Uintas. Eileen gets caught in a terrific storm when she is climbing alone on Mt. Agassiz. She slips and sprains her ankle just as night is closing in. She is rescued by Brent Baring, forest ranger, whom she had met before, but towards whom her feelings have been decidedly mixed. It is a question of whether she likes him or likes him not. Gradually his fine qualities are impressed on her, especially in contrast to the behavior of her one-time sweetheart, Wayne, with whom she had been friendly in New York. The family is getting along splendidly with the camp, and feeling more enthusiastic about the ranch all the time, when Tom receives a summons to court to show why the deed should not be canceled and set aside on the ground that it had been executed and delivered with the intent to defraud. Tom sets out to find Ming Low, a Chinaman, and a trader on the Uinta Indian Reservation. But much to his consternation, he finds Ming Low absent from his trading post, and perhaps dead for all the person in charge of the post knows, it has been so long since he has heard from the Chinaman. In the meantime the family is managing the guide camp the best they can.

“No. Slim, you stay with Mom. I can bring four horses back as easy as pie. That’s no trick.”

“But Miss Eileeen —,”

“It’s all right, Slim. I won’t leae Mother alone in camp. You stay — I go. Hear?”

“Squint and Jimmie ought’a be showin’ up ‘fore milkin. I don’t like you to be comin’ back alone.”

“Slim — you old woman! Who’s boss around here when Dad’s away! Here, help get these skillets in the carry-all. I’ll throw you the stuff, you stow it away.”

The packing was for a man and his wife who were going in to fish the Grandaddy basin, a phenomenon no more strange than some others seen at Reynolds that season.

It was already noon, a little late for starting, but by making the best time possible, Eileen felt sure she could get her party well located and bring the horses back by dark. Her father had not returned from the Reservation where he had gone to find Ming Low. Squint and Jim had taken a group of men over to the Daynes Lakes which are tucked away under the North rim, and Eileen was ready to start for the Granddaddies on the south trail. A ride through the forest looked infinitely more inviting to her than remaining at camp to take care of the stock in case Squint and Jimmie didn’t arrive in time. No, Slim should stay, and she would go, she firmly resolved.

“Put the rifle in,” she called, “I might find a stray sheep, myself.” Eileen was a good shot.

Running over to the tent, she packed a sandwich for her supper, buckled the strap of the field glass case over her shoulder, and took down her lumber-jack from its hook. Reassuring her mother that she would be back by dark, and that there was absolutely nothing to worry about, she kissed her and hurried over to the horses.

“Got everything you need?” she asked her fishermen. “Lard, butter, flour for those trout you’re going to catch? There’s no grocery store round the corner from Granddaddy.”

“How many million will two pounds of butter fry?” queried the wife.

“How many million do you think I can catch?” answered her spouse. “Come on! I’m going for the scenery, too.”

“Alley oo hoo, then,” said Eileen. “We’re off.” She whistled to Chance to follow; and away they went to the tinkling of the horses’ bells.

“Well! Fancy seeing you at Rainbow!” she said to Brent with an innocent, callow tone as he crossed her trail at the Lake.

“Well! If it isn’t my little Lorelei,” he answered with a touch of smiling raillery.

“I’m no siren,” she denied, “Just an ordinary matter-of-fact fisherman’s guide.” Nevertheless, her next remark denied the denial. “I’ll be back this way in a couple of hours or so. . . Bye,” she smiled over her shoulder.

She led her party along the trail, past the most glamorous country, lakes with miniature wooded islands, densely forested shores, and neverending green.

It was past mid-afternoon when they reached the upper levels of the Granddaddy basin. Eileen’s patrons helped her to unpack. She arranged to come back for them at the appointed time, and gave them the advice of the experienced. “See that little bay?” She nodded towards a small moon shore across the big Granddaddy. “The water’s deep there, and your best fishing’s around that cove. The trout are pretty wary in Betsy, but if you can tramp up to an overhanging cliff about four miles from here, you’ll find Wall Lake hiding under its shadow. You might land a big one in that little gem. I did once.” She smiled enchantingly at the memory. “Good luck and goodbye.” She left them to set up housekeeping, literally on the ground floor of Granddaddy’s shores.

Eileen extended the reins of the pack horses and looped them through a saddle-ring. In turn, she gave each of the ponies a smart slap on the rump and started them on the return journey. She followed on Nitana, leading the two packs.

Hardly conscious of her choice, the song of “The Lorelei” sprang to her lips as she dipped down the tilting trail — it was the free expression of her jubilant heart. To her, the peace, the joy, and the beauty of this mountain glen were a source of rare elation. Besides — was there not a girdle of silver lakes on the grassy floor below? And Rainbow — was it not the clasp of the girdle?

For an hour she traveled her uninterrupted way. Chance ran in and out of the long grass, weaving an intricate pattern on the shadows of the towering pines. The horses stopped to drink at a running brook. Not far away, now, was the Ranger Station. The horses’ bells were silent for a moment. Only the faint murmur of the breeze in the top of the pines was audible. Suddenly the muffled throb of a pulsing motor intruded on the quietude.

Strangely familiar was the sound, but utterly foreign to the seclusion and solitude of the High Uintas. Incredulously, Eileen scanned the sky. A black speck against the blue quickly increased in size to the augmented whirr of a roaring speed plane.

“Forevermore! What in the world is that doing here!” she gasped. Closer and closer to earth it spiraled.

Heaven knew there were landing places aplenty in this region. Every here and there the forest opened abruptly to a level meadow, fairly smooth, and large enough to keep a skillfully maneuvered plane from bumping its nose on some giant pine at the edge. But whether any of the meadows had ever been used for the purpose was another matter. Although the mountains were not far distant from one of the transcontinental airways, flyers avoided them like the plague. They might be swallowed in everlasting oblivion in any one of these primeval pockets.

But down came the speed plane with evident intent to land. The low sun flashed a bright reflection from its silver wings as it turned on its side to circle more slowly down. Eileen could see that it was making for a spot far to one side of the trail. “How terrible! Someone must be lost! A forced landing!” she exclaimed.

Without thought of danger to herself in leaving the trail, she tied the four horses and plunged into the woods on Nitana. Eileen knew somebody might be in dire need. Chance followed, sensing adventure. Dog-like, he knew his mistress was leaving the beaten path.

The plane was down; Eileen couldn’t be sure just where. From the roar of its motors and the closeness of her view before it sank into the pines, she knew it wasn’t far away. She gauged the direction, but there was no bee-line forward. First, she had to round a long steep mound of lichened black limestone, and then she fearlessly descended a little coulee. She pricked Nitana forward through a stand of virgin pines, probably hitherto untrod by man or beast. All at once, not far ahead of her, she could see where the forest opened. Its shadows gave way to the unhampered light of the mellow sun. She could discern the plane through the trees — upright, seemingly unharmed. Where was the flyer? There was no sign of distress. This noisy, vibrating machine and its pilot had become as characteristically stilled as the woods around them. Eileen reined in, led by some inner prompting to pause for a moment.

Through the trees, she witnessed a strange performance. Instinctively, she drew in the bridle as Nitana began to crop the grass. “Be still, Chance,” she said, lifting her first finger. The dog pointed and froze to his position. Never had the remarkable work of his handler been shown to greater advantage.

“Don’t whinny, Nitana,” whispered Eileen, turning her horse’s head and patting her neck. She looked across the field again. In utter amazement, she saw a man in a flying suit and a helmet burrowing in the ground with a sharp instrument. He wore gloves. He was digging frantically, near a protruding boulder which was surrounded by a clump of “jack pine.” The thick growth of the pines and their sharp needles apparently interfered with his progress, but they would effectively conceal whatever he was intending to hide.

“What’s he doing away with?”

she asked herself with a creepy feeling as visions of the buried skeleton of Edmond Drood came into her mind.

Nitana shifted her weight. Eileen patted her neck again and softly soothed her, “Quiet, Beauty!” She gently tightened the rein.

Taking up her field glasses, she focused them on the worker across the meadow. “That’s no grave!” The hole was small and deep. At the side of it there was a tin box. Close to that Eileen discovered a black package. Oilcloth, possibly.

“Good night! I’ll bet he’s a kidnaper! And that’s the ransom money!”

The flyer took a pile of greenbacks from his pockets and a piece of cellophane paper.

“For the love of Mike!” she whispered. “Moisture-proof! This was planned. It’s a trick!” She watched him wrap pile after pile of bills, first in cellophane, and then in oilcloth. “Mercy! What shall I do?” She wanted to run. She was half paralyzed with fear. “No! You cowardy-custard! There’s no telling what he’s done — or what he might do! It’s up to you, Eileen!” she said to herself.

HER first impulse was to dash across the meadow. But quick as lightning she sensed her folly. No — I’ll pretend I’ve come to help him. He’s not to suspect I know.

She watched him, fascinated, slowly gathering her courage, planning her own little scheme. Suddenly, she became grateful for having found a bandit! “Gee whiz — Richard the Lion-Hearted! I know now, I shouldn’t climb mountains alone, but if I catch a crook all by myself I might make up for that mistake. If I don’t catch him . . .” She drew a sharp breath, “Heaven help me!” She felt the handle of her rifle. Then, with the strength of a steel-spring she braced herself for the bluff.

“Okay Chance!” she snapped, “let her go!” She touched Nitana with her spur. The horse bounded forward into the clearing as the flyer crossed to his plane.

“Thank goodness you’re not dead!” shouted Eileen as she dashed across the meadow. “What brought you down? I was afraid I’d find you all smashed up.”

The pilot nearly jumped out of his skin. He wasn’t expecting callers, and a rescue was the last thing he was looking for.

She stopped short — she had already calculated the limit of her safety zone. The steel spike had a threatening air. She had chanced against odds that there was no gun in the hip-pocket of his flying suit? naturally he wouldn’t anticipate being held up in mid-air — but still.

“Quiet, Chance!” she silenced the pointer’s furious barking.

The odds were with her. Not once did his hand move towards his hip.

“You’re not hurt? Really?” she rattled on in a solicitous tone.

“Your sweet little tootin, I’m not! What brought you here?” (he cursed under his breath.) “Broken oil line forced me down,” he said aloud. “Been tinkerin’ with it; it’s okay now, and I’m climbin’ out o’ here before dark. Say, who are you, anyway?” He became suddenly suspicious. “What are you doing in here? Strange parts fer a gal to be inhabitin’.”

“Not so strange. I’m a guide from Camp Reynolds. I saw you come down and I came over to help you. Thank goodness you weren’t killed.” Her solicitude was touching.

“Then we’ll both be moving. Thanks a lot.”

“So we will. But I do need some help. I can’t go back alone; it’s too late. Won’t you come with me? You can come back to your plane in the morning.”

“I’ll be a son-of-a-gun! I didn’t ask fer no company, and I’m not offerin’ any!”

“Even if I ask you?”

“Lady, I got an engagement. I lost myself in the fog the other side o’ these mountains. My little ship’s a right smart climber or I might be rollin’ down one o’ them stone hills right now. She cleared the hump but busted her guts. I got ‘er fixed, and now I’m gettin’ out o’ here before dark. I reckon no guide needs guidin’.”

“But I do. I ask you. . .” Eileen parried for time as she made ready to jump.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse. . . .”

“Then I order!” Quick as a flash she was off her horse with her rifle pointed at the flyer. “You’re game’s up! You rode in here on a plane. You’re riding out on a horse. I’m walking just behind you to see that you don’t fall off. You’ve seen this wilderness from the air — the best possible view to let you know what a mess you’d be in if you tried to bolt. You do as I say or I’ll fire. . .” “You high-handed little hussy!”

“I’m pretty sure-handed, I want you to know. Get on that horse, and don’t mistreat her. She won’t stand contaminating! Let the reins hang loose. She needs no guiding! We’re doubling back on my tracks — the mare and the dog will pick up the scent. Scram! Throw your leg over that saddle!”

“I’ll be a son-of-a-”

“I know you will, but don’t tell me about it again.”

Ihe crook was cornered, but he couldn’t believe it. This was too simple. With the speed of a rattler, up shot the pike. With the sure aim of that reptile, Eileen fired. She grazed his wrist — the steel rod dropped. He jerked off his glove. “You little imp!”

“I meant to tell you to drop that in the first place. Now, will you get in that saddle and do as I say! Fold your hands behind you and don’t move ’em or I’ll bark the other wrist. And don’t forget to treat that horse with respect; I’ll be watching every move you make!”

“Okay, you dumb-bell! It won’t take me long to make a get-away with a break like that!” thought he, as he slid into the saddle.

But he hadn’t reckoned on Eileen’s vigilance or her walking ability. One moment’s slackening of the tension, and Eileen would most surely have crumpled. But she never faltered. She kept a short, even distance behind the man on the horse, and her rifle, heavy as it was, never lost its aim. She felt that an unseen Power gave her strength to follow this surprising criminal through the forest toward the Ranger Station. And she also felt that, just so, Brent must have drawn on super-human strength in getting her down from Agassiz. She uttered a silent prayer; and then — “This is a country!” she said half aloud.

Chance barked and yelped at Nitana’s heels. He snapped at the stranger’s feet in the stirrups of his mistress’s beloved horse. Eileen ordered him down. She quieted Nitana by speaking calmly and soothingly to her. Beautiful, sensitive creature! She would never cease to be grateful to her for having behaved so well in this situation. She was thankful when Chance nosed ahead of the horse, making their way that much more sure out of this unwonted region.

The shadows became very long. The sun dropped behind the tips of the pines. “Poor Mom! She’s in for another scare. When she hears about this, I’m afraid it will be the end of the West for her!”

The tinkling of the horses’ bells was heard. “You don’t need to mind those horses,” said Eileen. “We’re walking right past them. That’s my string. I really am a guide. And I’m fond of riding, but I’d rather walk than ride, just now. When you hit the blazed trail, turn to your right and keep on going. One move toward those horses and I’ll find your heart just as I shaved your wrist.” She was horrified at her own words.

Surely this was the strangest cavalcade that ever treaded these peaceful woods.

“Where’s Brent?” thought Eileen. He must have seen the plane drop. “Surely, he heard my shot. Why doesn’t he come?” When she spied his white tent gleaming in the evening light, she thought she’d faint if he didn’t show up.

Ouddenly she heard him galloping down the trail from far beyond. “Thank heaven!” she said.

He caught sight of a stranger on Nitana. He saw Eileen pointing a rifle at the man’s back. There’s trouble!” he said. “This is no fishing party! That shot! That plane! What’s the meaning of this. . . .”

The brindle lunged as he felt Brent’s sudden check. Nitana veered; her rider wobbled. He wore a sullen, vicious expression. His wrist was bleeding.

“Eileen! Who is this? Why are you walking while this man rides? Are you hurt?”

“I’ve brought you a present, Brent. But it’s not tied up. I’ve left that for you. Get out your rope and take this beast off my precious horse. I caught him red-handed when I went out to save him. Saw the plane come down. Thought I’d help, but found he didn’t need any. I saw him ditching a pile of money two feet under the ground. Don’t tell me it was his. I’d hate to think I’d had this walk for nothing.”

“Buried treasure, huh! Whose is it?” snapped Brent.

“He’s not talking, but I’m telling. Loot, or maybe ransom for some sweet kid, I don’t know. But I’ll swear he’s crooked!”

“What brought you in here, stranger?”

“What’s that to you!”

“Quit snarling! I think the girl’s right. You’d better come with me. Just for safety’s sake, I’m tying your hands. Easy now. . . I’ll take care of that scratch later.”

“This is too easy,” growled the man, “I might as well be sucking a nursing bottle.”

“What did you plug him for, Eileen?”

“Because I didn’t want him to crack my skull.”

“Shut up! I’ll get you for this!” rasped the crook.

Brent tied the bandit’s hands behind him and marched him to the tent. “Watch him, Eileen — I’m calling the Forestry Chief at Hanna.” Brent also kept an eye on him as he took up his ranger’s telephone.

“Hello . . .Baring on the wire. . . . Man dropped in here in a plane. . . I don’t trust him — He looks like a tough hombre. . . Girl-guide up here saw him caching a pile of jack below the ground. . . Yeah, skads of it. . . She brought him in to me at the end of a gun. What shall I do? Hold him? You don’t say! Boy! This must be your man! Sure, just like a pole-cat. . . Make it snappy!” The wire clicked; Brent looked contemptuous. “So you thought you’d get away with a pile of your Uncle Sam’s dough? What do you think we’re up here for? He’s our boss. You don’t know your Uintas.”

“No, an’ I don’t want to; d’yu think I flew over hell’s paradise of my own accord! But with every landin’ field in the country baited, I’d rather take a chance on a hole like this than walk straight into a trap. What d’yu think I carry a radio for? News is as good in the air as on the ground. I got the sign to ditch and I ditched. Five minutes more back there and I wouldn’t be down here. If it hadn’t a ben fer that brat!” His look was poisonous.

Brent held him until the sheriff came.

Eileen went back for the four horses on the lope. She knew that if she didn’t get home soon there might be a catastrophe in the Reynolds family. A full moon lighted her way. Her heart kept pace with Nitana’s swift hoofs. She was more frightened for her mother’s state of mind, than she was of the lonely forest in the dark.

Tom was at the stable to meet her.

“Daddy! When did you get back?”

“Eileen! What made you so iate?” They both spoke at once.

The news of Eileen’s capture of the government bond thief made headlines all over the country. “Girl-Guide Uncle Sam’s Number 1 ‘G’ Man,” screamed the newsies as they peddled their extras from coast to coast.

Eileen was thankful to be in the mountains. Even partial solitude was sweet in comparison to the publicity she might have received — but Tom’s business doubled.

Brent having heard of Tom’s quest for Ming Low, became vitally interested. “Hm! Forestry. . . . Ranching . . . blooded cattle. . . . What a beautiful relationship!” thought he.

He called the regional supervisors attention to the fact that Tom needed a character to save his daughter’s property. “Do you know,” he said to Mr. Preston, the supervisor, “where that girl gets her courage? Take a look at her old man’s eyes some day — and then see what you can find in hers! They’re a pair o’ pairs!”

When the case was heard in the county seat, Preston testified that a man like Reynolds was a God-send to the country, and that his daughter was another. Morley testified as to the integrity of the man he had known so long. But the sensation of the day was Ming Low.

Tom hadn’t found him. But a young Ute brave had. Into the heart of the Reservation, after the Indian youth, went Tom, when he found Ming Low missing. Tom had faith in this young Indian. The brave possessed a quiet self-respect that Tom had perceived when he first became acquainted with him. And self-respect was the first thing Tom looked for in any Indian with whom he had dealings. Tom knew that when an Indian has this quality he might be a fine, rare person; and that without it, he might be trash.

The brave spoke English fluently, and he understood Ming Low’s jargon well. Tom hadn’t much to offer as a reward for the Ute’s search for the Mongolian, but an Indian asks no reward when he works for love. Tom was his friend. So down the road to Current Creek went Feather-From-the-Sky in search of Ming Low.

The time was short — Ming Low was elusive. Less than ten days remained in which to get him located, to have yen with him, and to recall to his mind that a passing greeting in two languages, Chinese and English, with a mixture of an Indian, third, and no very clear understanding of any, which took place in a remote canyon nearly a year ago, was now of momentous consequence.

Feather -From-the-Sky was deliberate by nature, slow and calculating. Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t give up when he failed to find the Mongolian in Park City, his trading headquarters, or in Salt Lake City, where he went on rare occasions, but persisted in following his scent from t clue to clue until he finally found him in San Francisco.

Ming Low had gone to the coast in a rickety old Ford, He insisted on coming home that way. But he arrived — he said his say in Chinese-Indian — Feather-From-the-Sky interpreted —and the Court believed. Adams released his claim — and Eileen turned rancher.

She agreed with Brent — forestry and ranching might be closely related.

(The End)