Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 March 1893 — WHAT HAPPENED TO HALLIE. [ARTICLE]

WHAT HAPPENED TO HALLIE.

BY SARAH BIERCE SCARBOROUGH.

Nothing had ever happened to Hallie. Burt. At least, that is what she claimed. “Fpurteen years is a very long time to pass away without anything happening to a body,” was what her lather had gravely remarked when she persisted in the assertion; and Phil, her grown-up brother, had quizzically asked if she would be satisfied with anything less than lassoing a crocodile in one of the Colorado mountain lakes or shooting a dodo in the canyon below. “I don’t expect the impossible,” she had retorted; ’’but I do want something that might be called a ‘happening.’ ” The hunting excursions with the boys, the round-ups on the plateau, the mountain climbing and the agate hunting —all these she refused to consider in the category of “happenings.” They were expected things and ‘’happenings ” were— | well— “ something that she had not looked for—very long, at least,” she explained. But, according to her own definition, several things happened very soon. In the first place, her father and mother, who went every year at the time of full moon in September, to Pueblo, had prom- j ised to take her with them on this trip; but the very day before they started her mother called her aside for a private talk. I At its close Hallie emerged from the sit- 1 ting room with suspiciously swimming eyes. “Try not to mind it this time, dear,” said her mother. “ You know that we are to take your Aunt Catherine, and if you think how ill she has been and how much she will suffer from the discomfort of being crowded, aud how necessary it is that her poor uerves be not annoyed in any way, I am sure that you will find some pleasure iu the sacrifice of your long-looked for trip.” So she watched them depart, only heaving a great sigh as they disappeared from view. “ I should say that here is a happening with a vengeance,” remarked her twin brother, Hall, bv way of consolation. “ But I wouldn't mind it tho’; and we will go up after agates. Maybe we wiii find one as a mate for the one you want set for a button—that will be another kind of a happening.” b-* efra that favorite amusement had lost its charm. “It is bound to be poky the best way you can fix it, she replied, gloomily. “ Then, too, it would not be right to go off. There is nobody here but Phil and us, and Phil isn’t to be depended on to stav.”

“.You forget Garcia and Manuel,” said Hall. “They are never left alone.” “That is so. Heigho! 1 don't know, but I wish with you that something would happen.” Hallie was right about Phil. That noon one of the boys came down from the upper ranch to tell of the stampede of the cattle, aud their suspicion that it was caused by a mountuin lion. Instantly Phil was alert. He had long wanted u mountain lion's skin, and it did not take long for him to convince himself that his presence was indispensable at tbe other ranch. “ l’H go up for a couple of days, and Fred and you can look after everything. Mantel will take good care of things. Isn’t that so, Manuel T” “Si, Scnor.” The man showed a glistening row of teoth as he answered. “ And I am sure that Garcia is to be depended on.” The womau bobbed her head without hearing; for she was as deaf as a post.

“And I don’t like it a bit,” said Ilallie, as Phil rode off. As for Hall, had he not secretly wished to go with Phil, he would have thought it just the thing to be left in charge. As it was, he was discontented, and roamed about, leaving Hallie to her own devices. It was dull enough for her, as Garcia was no company at all. But company came. At night, two men—Mexicans—rode up from the mountain road and stopped to talk with Manuel. “They want to stop all night,” said Hall ‘ ‘Manuel says that they are all right.”. •‘And that would be a good reason why I would not have them stay,” Hallie demurred. But Hall laughed at her. “Pshaw! Here’s a girl that is always wanting something to happen, aud is afraid it will at the same time.” “I am not," was the . indignant reply. “Only it might not be What I wanted.” “They can stay in the adobe part, and Manuel is all right to look after them.”

So they stayed,though Hallie kept jvishing in her heart that something would bring Phil back. But he did not come, and Hail sleepily declared that nobody need fret. The consequence was that long after he had gone to sleep Hallie was in Pfait's room next the adobe part, listening to the conversation going on among the men. The thin partition made this an easy thing to do. Late in the night she tiptoed to Hall's bedside. * “Wake up Hall! There is some plan among these men. I can’t quite understand there’s so much Mexican Greaser talk; but I know they think of waiting for Papa’s coming back, and mean to meet them in the upper canyon.’’ “Now, Hallie, you have imagined half of that, I expect,” yawned Hall, drowsily, as he prepared to turn over. "But I haven’t, really. Hall, wake up! I tell you I heard something about money, too; and you know that Papa twings up Hie pay for the boys this “Manuel must hare got hold of that fact someway. The old rascal!” Hall .y» awake now. “If Phil were only p -We most get him here It k only SwSjJ '■ ■~ ■ l. '• ,

twenty miles, and Padre could make It quick enough. Then he could go right on and meet our folks. They’ll not start before Friday.” The two,talked until morning, and by that time Hall felt quite convinced that he had done a very uuwise thing to harbor the men and was willing to do almost anything to rectify his mistake. Hallie, however, thought that it was the very best thing that could have happened because otherwise they themselves would have known nothing about the proposed act of the highwaymen. “You will not lie afraid to stay?” Hall asked, as he made his preparation for an early start. “Perhaps you had better go with me.” “No, I’ll stay, so that they may suspect nothing. They'll hang around until about Friday before they set off for the trail.”

At daylight Hall saddled Padre, “just to have a day of hunting,” he said to Manuel who was watching him. Hallie nervously saw him disappear, but began to busy herself helping Garcia, so that the day would not seem so long. Hall would reach the ranch by noon, and the two would be back by night; there would be ' uo danger before that she was sure. But at noon another man rode up,from the mountain road and was taken into the adobe part by the others. Hallie hurried to Phil’s room with forebodings. What she gathered from their talk not only surprised but terrified her. The last comer had been a spy upon her father's movements. He reported that they had already left Pueblo—much earlier than they had expected—and with the stop of one night, which they always made, they would reach the upper canyon about an hour after midnight. Hallie saw it all. They always preferred to travel in the evening when the weather was warm and there was moonlight. It was Aunt Catherine's health which had probably caused the change of time for return as well as the night travel in September. What should she do? If Phil would only come, there would be time, or perhaps the boys could see some plan to prevent the men from leaving. The last idea proved itself impossible, as at noon the three men rode off upon the upper road.

All the long afternoon she watched for a sign of Phil or Hall, but night cams and neither had reached home. Mamiel had noticed her uneasiness and had carelessly remarked that Hall might get on the track o£ the mountaiu lion, too. This did not not allay her fear 3. It- only reminded her of what she had lost sight of—that possibly Hall might not find Phil, and there was uo telling when the two could get back. It caused her to reach a determination. Manuel slept in the far end of the adobe part, and Garcia would hear nothing nt any time So she set about her preparations. “There is really nothing else to be done.” she murmured to herself, as she put on the short suit that she wore when hunting with the boys. “Father must be warned by somebody before those men meet him.” Sh 3 knew just where the attack was planned to take place—at the bend, after the party had left the lower canyon. If she could ouly reach the canyon before they crossed and took the long wagon road to the upper one. She believed she could. They would leave “Hunt’s”— their night’s stopping place—at sundown. She remembered so vividly the ride, as sheihad taken it three years before—when' they passed into the lower | canyon and! stopped the bronchos to see the gtand sifcht under the pale light of the I moon whicliutrought out all the beauties of the placfc with wierd effect--just midnight, so she remembered.

Bhe was certain tlrnt she could reach it. She had thought of the old trail, abandoned now that the wagou road had te-’cn made. It was sfeep and rough, but it cut off full six miles and led off from :he upper canyon so far that there was r.o danger of meeting those men. She was glad enough to find that Manuel had left her own broncho out in the corral at the left, and on the opposite side of the house from where he slept. She was nervous; but Phister, the broncho, was never unwilling to be caught, so she was on his back in a short time aud walked him slowly away. For a minute she sat, as she reached the old trail which turned so sharply down the mountain, ani looked back. There was no sign of the boys and she looked ahead with a little quiver of fear. “Never mind, it’s for Papa and Mamma, and nothing will hurt me,” she reassured herself, aud turned into the gloomy path.

It was rough indeed, so rough that even Phister’s well-trained feet found footing difficult at times; but she clung to his back and pushed on. She grew feverishly excited though os she advanced. If she should fail, after all, to intercept them! It made her almost frantic to think of it, and Phister was urged to the imminent danger of both. Still the beast was wise enough to refuse stubbornly to make undue haste. She did not know the time, and minutes seemed hours. She could only roughly guess as, at times, the moonlight struggled into the path. Now she was at the spring. It was half choked by gravel and underbrush; bu? Phister would stop to drink. As he drank, there came to her earn a prolonged cry, low and mournful, at first, but as Phister uneasily started on, it rose to a crescendo wail. Again and again, at intervals, it came to her ear 9, and it seemed to sound nearer. Phister showed signs of nervousness. too. Suddenly it flashed upon her that it might be the mountain lion. Could it be following her-she had heard of such things—or was it possibly upon the other trail? She drew up Phister sharply. This was an unlookedfor terror. For a moment she questioned what she should do. She laid her hand on the holster with a glad remembrance that she had brought her own revolver. She had learned to use it quite well, but could she do anything if she should meet an animal like that? '

She must go on though, she quickly decided, and if the worst came, well—she would shoot—at it, she determined with a nervous little laugh. She patted Phister to reassure him, and Urged him to a good pace. The descent was nearly over. Soon there would be a smooth path for a short distance, a grassy slope beyond, and then she would be able to see into the canyon down toward which she must ride in a winding path for nearly another mile. Perhaps she was mistaken, she thought,. as all was quiet fora few minutes. Then a bough broke somewhere up on a mountain, and Phister stopped to raise his ears. A low wail sounded again almost at her right. The grassy slope had been passed and she could see below. Just over there was the cut through which her father must come, but no one was in sight. There was a crashing of limbs nearer, as if some creature were bounding from jtree to tree. Phister broke into a tro, rough as it was at this point. She* saw nothing, but she felt the presence of (Something. Once she thought of fir og her revolver; but she hesitated. She did Bot k ow how far on the other road the ml i might be, and if they

should hear it 1— No; perhaps she could outrun it—whatever it might be. Then came another thought that fairly made her heart stand still. Suppose that the men had been mistakeu, after all, and her father was not coming that night. Hallie had never fainted iu hei life, but for a second everything reeled before her. Still she pressed on. Was not that a rattling of pebbles? She drew up Phister to be sure. There was a descent of the opposite side where the broncho's hoofs might loosen the peb bles and send them down. But all wai still. Then there was another crash, and the moon, which shone right into the depths, showed a long dark body on a swaying limb overhanging the canyon toad some twenty feet below. Phister saw it, too, and trembled. A low, panting, purring sound came from the beast teetering there-at length, its eyes fixed on the road beneath. There was atattling; she was sure of it. There was a murmur of voices, aud the wagon train emerged from the opposite trail. If the beast had followed her, it was evident that its attention had been suddenly drawn to the new comers, and it lay with angry, quivering body and lashing tail, ready for a leap into thtir midst. Like a flash Hallie saw it all.* Her father or mother might be killed in that unlooked-for spring, or, if this did not happen, what a terrible shock it would be to her aunt’s nerves! Her own seemed to become steel at the thought. She slapped Phister smaijtly. The broncho stepped tremblingly forward. The lion turned its head at tbe sound. As Phister stopped short again, Hallie raised her revolver, took deliberate aim and fired. There was a snarl, a convulsive bound, then the beast sprang out, clutching at the limbs, and rolled down the canyon’s side. With the report, Phister gave a terrified snort, dashed frantically forward, fairly leaping over the stones, whirled around the turn in the path and bore her straight into the midst of an astonished group. “It is our Hallie!” With Mrs. Burt’s exclamation, everything was confusion for a few moments, and it was some minutes before Hallie herself could recover self-possession enough to tell of her ride and its cause. “My brave girl!”,was all that her mother could say, as they looked at the lion stretched dead across the road. But her father held her fij-tnly by the hand as he decided upon the course to Eursne in regard to the Mexicans. If lallie could ride down the old trail, they could ride up it; so the women, with Mr. Burt and another man, took the bronchos and slowly rode back, Aunt Catherine rising equal to the occasion, declaring that her comfort was not to bo thought of longer. It was daylight when the ranch was reached. They found old Garcia in a state of terror. Hall aud Phil had returned late that night and, taking Manuel with them, had immediately set off on the upper road after the Mexicans. Before noon they returned with jaded horses, but with the men as captives, having surprised them in their-waiting. Manuel solemnly affirmed that he knew nothing of their design; but whether he did or not, Mr. Burt thought it best to rid himself of him soon after. “ Well, Hallie, you can never again complain that nothing lias ever happened to you, I am sure,” said Phil, when all had heard of that ride with that cry resounding in her ears. “ And I think I am cured of ever again wishing anything to happen,” she replied, with a shudder.

But her “happenings” had begun. Aunt Catherine learned how Hallie had given up the trip t.o Pueblo for her sake, aud the next announcement made was that her niece was to go back to the East with her. And when they went Ilallic carried the mountain lion skin with her. “She has earned it all, too,” said Phil, proudly. "Not many girls would have done what she did. And think of that shot right in that animal’s temple!” But Hallie has always persisted that that was the most extraordinary happejing of all. —[The Independent.