"He comes back to his people and knows that if he lives there it must be as his father lived--except that now he has more cultivated tastes to satisfy, and no further means or methods of earning the price of them.

To plant the corn, herd the sheep, hunt the rabbits, take care of his share of his own village--these are the life-work of the Indian. The schools teach him to do that no better than his fathers did it before him. He is taught to read and write, and he asks 'for what?'

"The cities of the mesa have no books, and have never felt the need of them. Why should he read of the American life he lives apart from?"

Therefore Olive understood that though the boy Carlos might not be able to express himself in this fashion, in his heart of hearts this was exactly the way that he felt. Why should he study what Jim Colter and the girls wished him to learn? Books and figures had no possible interest for him or relation to the life which he meant to lead. His world was the outdoor one, among the animals and birds, under the new moons of each succeeding month, and lifting up his eyes and his heart to the sun when he wished to be glad.

To work like the other men did about the ranch, digging under the earth or plowing in the fields! This was not for the son and the grandson of many chieftains! It was not merely laziness on Carlos' part that kept him from making himself useful, but the feeling that any such labor as he might be expected to do was beneath his dignity. Therefore the boy could never really get into his mind the idea that the white people were his masters, although in a vague way he knew that they felt themselves to be. It was this thought that was always the foundation of Carlos'

sullenness and lack of grat.i.tude.

So Olive realized that the Indian boy's letter to her, which she had found at her door one day hidden among a bunch of prairie roses, had not been written in any spirit of presumption or audacity. Had she not at one time seemed to be an Indian like himself? Had she not lived among them, eaten their food and spoken their speech? And was it not for her sake that Carlos had left his own tribe and taken upon himself many of the ways of the white man? The boy had cared for his "Princess Olilie"

always, but in years past he had been a boy and felt as one. Now he was a man!

All this and more Carlos had put into his note. Olive remembered it at the present moment almost word for word, for it had touched and hurt her at the same time. Although Carlos was too young to mean all that he had said, she knew that with his queer nature he must suffer from her reply.

For he had written:

MY LADY OF THE LONE TRAIL:

Are you not weary of the life and the ways of the white women and men? Are you not tired of having your soul shut up between four walls of wood with no vision for your eyes by day and no night wind to touch your cheek as you lay asleep? You and I have grown older now; there is no one in any Indian tribe to hurt us. Have I not stayed quietly here waiting and watching for you, learning many things which I have hated, that we might not fail to understand each other? For my love for you is as the Tu-wa-ni-ne-ma, the sand of the desert.

Therefore will you not come away with me back to the wonderful, free outdoor world, where we lived together for a little while when both of us were children. Under a tree in a dim forest I shall build for you such a nest as only a man shall build for his mate. Then in the day time I shall plant corn while you weave the beautiful Indian blanket, which the Indian Laska taught you to make. And in the night we shall listen to the little night bird of the desert, the Hoetska. But both day and night we shall be alone and away from these people who do not understand me as you do and who will never love you as I do.

Whenever you will come with me, I shall have two horses waiting.

Olive stole a glimpse at Jacqueline's face. For a quarter of an hour they had been sitting beside each other, and yet neither one of them had uttered a word. But certainly she should not tell Jack of Carlos'

unhappy and impossible letter. For Jack might be amused, she might be angry, and certainly she would be resentful.

No, Olive decided that she must keep the boy's secret inviolate. Some day she would have a chance to see him alone. Then she might be able to explain how far she herself had traveled from the old Indian days--how she could never again love the things that the boy did, nor endure the life which he wished to lead. Besides, Carlos was only a boy, while she was almost a woman--at least a good many years his senior! Perhaps she might even tell Carlos that it would be best for him to go away from Rainbow Ranch, back to his own people where he could live with Indian boys and girls of his own age. There was the Indian village not far off to which she herself might return after a few years. For one of these days the Indians were to have a teacher who _could_ understand their point of view as well as that of the white people. Perhaps Carlos might by that time be married to a girl of his own race and be able to help her with her chosen work.

But she must not speak of this idea to Jacqueline either, for the suggestion always made her friend unhappy. It was odd how utterly devoted she and Jack were and how intimate; yet they did not often speak of the deepest desires of their hearts to each other. Not once had Jack voluntarily mentioned Frank Kent's name since their return from the visit to Lord and Lady Kent the year before.

Was Jack in love with Frank? Olive could not make up her mind. Because if she were, what was standing in the way of their engagement? Of course Jack could never have dreamed of her foolish, impossible affection for Frank, who had never been anything except her good friend. Olive was quite certain that she had never by any sign betrayed herself. She believed that she had entirely recovered from her former feeling, and was hoping with all her heart that Jack and Frank would now find out that they truly loved each other.

But what was making Jacqueline so unusually quiet? Olive's slender hand slipped into her friend's larger and firmer one, and Jack's fingers closed over it lovingly.

They were now almost at the depot and Frank Kent's train would be due in another quarter of an hour. If only Jack would not look so pale and reserved--she was not nearly so pretty as usual! Her face was white and her eyes had dark shadows under them. Jean and Frieda had insisted that Jack wear a new silk suit that had recently been made for her, but it was not half so becoming as her old brown corduroys or faded khaki; neither was her cream-colored straw hat with its single brown rose so picturesque as the ranch hat in which Frank had first seen her.

Olive sighed, and the sigh attracted the other girl's attention.

"I have been a dreadfully stupid companion, Olive dear. Forgive me,"

Jack murmured penitently. And then: "How pretty you are looking! Frank will be so glad to see you, I know!"

At this moment Carlos stopped the carriage and pair of horses before the station platform, where both girls got out without time for further speech. Yet all this while Jacqueline had been thinking: "If Olive still cares for Frank after this year of absence I am sure that her feeling will never change. So if this be true I shall tell Frank that I do not care for him enough to marry him. Olive has had too unhappy a life for me to add to her unhappiness. Surely when Frank believes that I do not love him, he will find out what Olive means to him and how immeasurably she is my superior, in beauty, brains, sweetness and everything that counts. Then he will know that he has liked her best all along!"

Nevertheless and in spite of all her excellent reasoning as the whistle blew announcing the approaching train, Jack caught her breath. She hoped that Frank would not be angry with her for having refused to let him come to Rainbow Ranch for almost a year. Could she dare to pretend that she had forgotten the conversation which they had had in that last ride together between the hawthorn hedges of an English lane?

When Frank Kent came down the steps of the train with his grave, handsome face flushed with eagerness--and something else--it was Olive Van Mater whom he found waiting for him alone on the platform. With all his old delightful friendliness and charm of manner he greeted her, dropping his luggage to hold both her hands close for a moment.

Yet Olive to save her life could not at once be equally friendly and natural. For what in heaven's name had become of Jacqueline Ralston at this critical moment? As the train drew in, she had been standing close by her side. Here she was approaching them at last, holding out her hand stiffly, with a frozen smile on her face.

"Awfully glad to see you, Frank; you are looking very fit after a trip across the continent. Sorry not to be here when your train got in, but I had to attend to something about the horses. Give me your check and let me see after your trunk. Everybody at the ranch is well and tremendously anxious to see you."

Frank smiled. Holding on to his trunk check he followed the girl a few yards to the spot where his trunk had been thrown out. Olive waited alone to watch his bags.

"Hope you will be more enthusiastic over seeing me yourself, dear, when I have a chance to talk to you," Frank remarked in the quiet fashion that always had its effect on the girl's ardent nature. "You are glad, aren't you?"

And while Jack nodded, not entirely trusting herself to speak, Frank laughed, saying: "Here comes a porter. I'll have him carry my stuff to the carriage. It is like you, Miss America, to wish to start out by taking care of me. But if I am an Englishman and too much accustomed to being waited upon, at least I won't endure that!"

CHAPTER XI

A DINNER PARTY

DINNER at Rainbow Lodge on the evening of Frank Kent's arrival was sufficiently gay and delightful to make up for many preceding weeks of quietness.

For not only was Frank's appearance an unexpected pleasure to the entire family, but a few hours before sundown Ralph Merrit had returned home with an old friend of his, whom quite by accident he had met in a nearby town and persuaded to come with him for a short visit at the ranch.

Henry Tilford Russell was to be a new experience to the four girls, since never in their wandering either at home or abroad had they met any other young man in the least like him.

Before bringing his guest up to the Lodge for dinner Ralph had managed to escape from him for a few moments in order to see Ruth privately and to explain to her a few of his friend's peculiarities, so that no member of the family need be unnecessarily surprised. For one thing, the stranger was inordinately shy, disliking girls more than anything in the whole world. In fact Ralph was at last obliged to confess that had his friend guessed how many maidens he would be obliged to face at dinner, gladly would he have preferred starvation to joining them. But since Russell had asked no uncomfortable questions, Ralph had not felt in duty bound to forewarn him. Then, as his guest was about thirty years old, according to Frieda Ralston's calculations he was much too elderly anyhow for the Ranch girls' consideration.

Yet notwithstanding all these drawbacks Ralph Merrit had been exceedingly anxious to bring his friend to the Rainbow Ranch. For in spite of the young man's shyness and social awkwardness, he was exceptionally brilliant, and was regarded almost a genius in his chosen line of work. Henry Tilford Russell was the a.s.sistant professor of ancient languages in the University of Chicago and Ralph had known him there in his own student days. However, he had recently suffered a breakdown from overwork and was now in the West on a trip for his health. But the fact about his former friend over which Ralph Merrit was particularly enthusiastic and desired to have Ruth impart to the girls, was that of his own free will Professor Russell had chosen the life of a student. His father was a wealthy and prominent Chicago lawyer, at one time the American Amba.s.sador to Greece, so had the son desired he might have followed the idle existence of most other rich young men.

In the midst of seeing that the baby was safely stored away in his silk-lined crib and that the table was set for extra guests, and that Aunt Ellen prepare a specially good dinner, Ruth had no time for extended conversation with the girls. She did manage to mention to Jean and Frieda that Ralph had brought home a stranger to whom they were to try to be agreeable. But this bit of information was almost swallowed up in the more important news that Ralph had at last succeeded in getting hold of a new set of men and that work on Rainbow Mine was to begin again within the next day or so.

Then, soon after, Frank appeared, and everything else was forgotten in the welcome to him.

Just as though he had been her older brother and Frieda a little girl, Frank kissed her, insisting that she had grown, although at eighteen Frieda certainly considered herself quite past the growing stage.

Introduced to the new baby, Frank did not seem in the least nervous or abashed as most men are by such very tiny persons. Indeed, he apparently had overcome all his old reserve and shyness and without this was simple and charming, as persons of high birth and breeding are most apt to be.

Fifteen minutes before dinner Ruth had positively to force the four girls to dress. Then, as Jim was getting ready at the same time, she had a few moments alone with Frank Kent.

"You know what I have come for, don't you, Mrs. Colter--Ruth?" Frank began with the directness that the woman had always admired in him.

Ruth made no pretense of not understanding. "It would be hard for all of us, and I don't see how Jim would be able to get along on the ranch without Jack," she replied. "For you see he and Jack really are like 'partners,' their old name for each other. But if it is for Jack's happiness you know how we should all feel. But, Frank, I feel I must warn you that Jack won't be easy to win, and it is because I care for you so much that I hope you will not be discouraged. She is not just like most girls, and----"

Frank nodded. "I have understood that all along," he interrupted. "Still there is one thing, Ruth, that you do not know. Last summer I persuaded Jack to confess that she did care for me. Yet she insisted that there was something, she could not explain to me what it was, that stood in our way--some barrier that had to be broken down before she could consent to marry me. What it was I don't know and that is one of the things I have come half way across the world to find out. Can you guess of any possible obstacle to Jack's feeling for me?"

In a puzzled fashion Ruth Colter drew her delicate brows together.

Frank's remark had startled and surprised her. "No, not unless it is her affection for us and the ranch," she replied.

Before another confidence could be exchanged, Jim had stamped into the living room, looking bigger and more splendid than ever, suggesting the strong wind from his own beloved prairies. A few moments later Ralph Merrit and his guest followed, and afterwards Olive, Jean and Jack.

Perhaps because she remembered that Frank had always liked her best in white, Jack wore a plain white silk dress cut square in the neck and with no tr.i.m.m.i.n.g but the girdle and little ruffle of lace. It was a dress which she had owned for over a year, and Frieda was annoyed with her for wearing it on the evening of Frank's arrival. Notwithstanding, as there was no time to change after her sister's protest, Frieda finally conceded as Jack left the room that she did look fairly well.

For the truth was that no one of the older girl's more elaborate toilets could have suited her half so well.