Jessica Trent: Her Life on a Ranch

“You see, little girl, that when a child is lost in a city the first thing the friends think of is–the station-house. All stray persons are taken and messages are sent to it from every part of the town all the time. That Ephraim will remember that, if he’s ever been here before, and he’ll be finding you long before night. Till then you’ll be safe and cared for.”

Jessica did feel a moment’s hesitation when she had to part with Scruff, but soon laughed at her own dismay.

“I felt as I must take him inside this building with me, for fear he’d be lonesome, too. But, of course, I know better. Why, what a nice, big place this is!”

By far the largest building she had ever entered, but her new acquaintances smiled at her delight over it.

“Not all who come here think it so fine,” said the young man. “Eh, officer?”

“No, no. No, indeed, sir. Now, this way, please. I’ll just enter the case at the desk and call up the matron. She’ll tend to the girl all right. You needn’t bother any more.”

“Oh! are you going?” asked Jessica, her face drooping.

“Not yet. No law against my having a meal with this young lady, is there, officer?”

“If it isn’t at the public charge, sir,” answered the policeman.

“Oh! I’ve money to pay for my own dinner. See?” cried Lady Jess, producing the fat wallet Ephraim had given her and which she pulled from within her blouse, where she had worn it, suspended by a string.

“Whew! child! All that? Put it up, quick. Put it up, I say.”

Instinctively she obeyed and hid the purse again, but her face expressed her surprise, and the young man answered its unspoken question.

“Very few little girls of your age ever have so much money as that about them. None ever should have. It’s too great a temptation to evil-minded persons, and a good many of that sort come here. Ah! the matron! I’ll ask her to show us into some less public place and I’ll order a dinner from that restaurant nearby.”

In response to his request the motherly woman in charge of the women’s quarters offered him her own little sitting-room; “if they’ll say yes to it in the office,” she added, as a condition.

This was soon arranged, the dinner followed and a very hungry Jessica sat down to enjoy it. Her companion also pretended to eat, but encouraged her to talk and found himself interested in her every moment. He, also, promptly told her who he was; a reporter and occasional artist, on one of the leading daily papers. A man always on the lookout for “material,” and as such he meant to use the sketch, he had made. He showed her the sketch, and explained that he would put an item in the next issue of his paper which might meet the eye of the missing sharpshooter and notify that person where to find her, if he had not done so before.

Jessica did not know that it was an unwise thing to make a confidant of a stranger, but in this instance she was safe enough; and it pleased her to tell, as him to listen to, the whole history of Sobrante; its fortunes and misfortunes, and the object of her present visit to this far-off town.

His business instinct was aroused. He realized that here might be “material,” indeed. He was young and sincere enough to be enthusiastic. Times were a little dull. There was quite a lull in murders and robberies; this story suggested either a robbery or swindle of some sort, and on a big scale. His paper would appreciate his getting a “scoop” on its contemporaries, and, in a word, he resolved to make Jessica Trent’s cause his own, for the time being.

“Look here, child, don’t you worry. You stay right quiet in this place with Matron Wood. I’ll get out and hustle. Here’s my card, Ninian Sharp, of The Lancet. That’s a paper has cut a good many knots and shall cut yours. I’ve heard of Cassius Trent. Everybody has, in California. I’ll find that Lawyer Hale. I’ll find old ‘Forty-niner’ and I’ll be back in this room before bedtime. Now, go play with the rest of the lost children–you’re by no means the only one in Los Angeles to-day. Or take a nap would be wiser. Look out for her, Matron Wood. Any good turn done this little maid is done The Lancet. Good-by, for a time.”

Smiling, alert, he departed and Jessica felt as if he had taken all her anxieties with him. She followed the matron into the big room where the other estrays, whom Mr. Sharp had told her she would find, waiting to be claimed by their friends, but none was as large as she. Some were so little she wondered how they ever could have wandered anywhere away from home; but she loved all children and these reminded her of Ned and Luis.

Promptly she had them all about her, and for the rest of that day, at least, Matron Wood’s cares were lightened. Yet one after another, some person called to claim this or that wanderer, with cries of rapture or harsh words of reproof, as the case might be. Jessica kissed each little one good-by, but with each departure felt herself growing more homesick and depressed. By sunset she was the only child left in the matron’s care, and her loneliness so overcame her that she had trouble to keep back her tears.

“But I’ll not cry. I will not be so babyish. Besides crying wouldn’t help bad matters and I’ve come away from Sobrante on a big mission. Even that jolly Mr. Sharp said, ‘That's a considerable of a job,’ when I told him. He was funny. Always laughing and so quick, I wish he’d come soon. It seems to take as long for him to find Ephraim as it would me. I should think anybody could have walked the whole city over by this time,” she thought, in her ignorance of distances. Then she asked:

“When do you think they’ll come, Matron Wood?”

The good woman waked from a “cat-nap” and was tired enough to be impatient.

“Oh! don’t bother. If they’re not here by nine o’clock you’ll have to go to bed. You should be thankful that there is such a place as this for just such folks as you. Like as not he’ll never come. You can’t tell anything about them newspaper men. But you listen to that bell, will you? I don’t see what makes me so sleepy. If it rings, wake me up.”

The minutes sped on. In the now silent room the portly matron slumbered peacefully and Jessica tried, though vainly, to keep a faithful watch. She did not know that her weary companion was breaking rules and laying herself open to disgrace; but she was herself very tired, so, presently, her head dropped on the table and she was also asleep.

Ninian Sharp found the pair thus, and jested with the matron when he waked her in a way that sounded very much like earnest. “He would have her removed,” and so on; thereby frightening Jessica, who had been roused by their voices, and looked from one to the other in keen distress.

“I did–I did try to listen for the bell, but it was so still and I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry–”

“Pooh! child. No more could I. It’ll be all right if this gentleman knows enough to hold his tongue,” said the woman, anxiously.

“I shouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t–where a lady is concerned. And I judge from appearances it’s about time Miss Jessica went to bed.”

The girl’s heart sank. This meant disappointment. She understood that without further words, and turned away her face to hide the tears which would come now, in spite of all her will.

Then the reporter’s hand was on her curls.

“Keep up your courage, child. I’ve been hustling, as I said I would. I’ve found out a lot. I’ve had boys searching the hotel records all over town and I know in which one your Mr. Hale is staying. He’ll keep–till we need him.”

“But Ephraim? Have you heard nothing of him?”

“I heard a funny yarn about a horse with a stiff leg; that the moment the sound of a drum was in his ears cooly tossed his aged rider into the gutter and marched off with the brass band, head up, eyes flashing, tail switching, a soldier with the best of them. See–it’s here in this evening’s Gossip.”

He held the sheet toward her and Jessica read the humorous account of Stiffleg’s desertion. But there was no account of what had further befallen Ephraim, and it seemed but a poor excuse for his non-appearance.

She tossed the paper aside, impatiently:

“But he had his own two good feet left. He could have followed me on them? I–I–he was always so faithful before.”

Mr. Sharp’s face sobered.

“He is faithful still, but his feet will serve him poorly for the next few weeks. Maybe months. Old bones are slow to heal, and the surgeon says it is a compound fracture. When he fell into the gutter, as my co-laborer so gayly puts it, he ‘broke himself all to smash.’ He’s in hospital. As a great favor from the authorities in charge I’ve seen him. I’ve told him about you. I’ve promised to befriend you and I’ll take you to see him in the morning. I’m sorry that your first night in our angelic city must be passed in a station-house, but I reckon it’s the safest till I can think of some fitter shelter. Good-night. My mother used to say that the Lord never shut one door but He opened another. Ephraim laid up–here am I. Count on me. Good-night.”

CHAPTER XVI

A HOSPITAL REUNION

When Ninian Sharp sat down to smoke a cigar at the window of his club it was with no idea that he was then and there to begin a bit of detective work which should make him famous. For, though this is anticipating, that was the reward which the future held for him because of his yielding to a kindly impulse.

Through him, the helplessness of a little girl won for an almost hopeless cause the aid of a great newspaper, than which there is no influence more potent. It took but one hearing of Jessica’s story to rouse his interest and to convince him that here was a “good thing if it could be well worked up.” It promised a “sensation” that would result in benefit to his paper, to himself, and–for his credit be it said–to the family of the dead philanthropist.

After he had bidden Lady Jess good-night, the reporter called at the hotel where Morris Hale was registered and held an interview with that gentleman. The result of this was pleasing to both men. They had one common object: the recovery of the missing money which had been entrusted to Cassius Trent. Mr. Hale wished this for the sake of his New York patrons, but now hoped, as did Ninian Sharp, that if it were accomplished it would also clear the memory of Jessica’s father from the stain resting upon it. For the present, they decided to join forces, so to speak. By agreement, they went together to the station-house on the following morning, and found Lady Jess looking out of a window with a rather dreary interest in the scene. But she instantly caught sight of them and darted to the doorway to meet them, holding out both hands toward the lawyer and entreating:

“Oh! I beg your pardon for the ‘boys’! And for us that we should ever have let it happen to any guest of Sobrante. Can you forgive it?”

The reporter looked curious and Mr. Hale’s face flushed at the painful memory her words had revived. But he did not explain and passed the matter over, saying:

“Don’t mention it, my child. Odd, isn’t it? To think you should follow me so quickly all this long way. Well, you deserve success and I’m going to help you to it, if I can. So is this new friend you’ve made. Now, are you ready to see poor ‘Forty-niner’? If so, get your cap, bid the matron good-by, and we’ll be off.”

Jessica obeyed, quickly; taking leave of Mrs. Wood with warm expressions of gratitude for her “nice bed and breakfast,” assuring that rather skeptical person that these men “were certainly all right, because one of them had been at her own dear home and her mother had recognized him for a gentleman. The other–why, the other wrote for a newspaper. Even drew pictures for it! Think of that!”

“Humph! A man might do worse. But, never mind. This is the place to come to if you get into any more trouble. There’s the street and number it is, and here’s my name on a piece of paper. Now, it’s to be put in the book about your going, who takes you, and where. After that–after that I suppose there’s nothing more.”

Ninian Sharp watched this little by-play with much interest, and remarked to the lawyer:

“That child has a charm for all she meets. Even this old police matron, whose heart ought to be as tough as shoeleather, looks doleful at parting with her. I think her the most winning little creature I ever met.”

“You should see her with her ‘boys,’ as she calls the workmen at Sobrante. They idolize her and obey her blindly. Sometimes, their devotion going further than obedience,” he added, with a return of annoyance in his expression.

As she stepped into the street, Jessica clasped a hand of each, with joyful confidence, and they smiled at one another over her head, leading her to the next corner where they hailed a car and the reporter bade her jump aboard.

“Am I to ride in that? Oh, delightful!”

“Delightful” now seemed everything about her. Friends were close at hand and a few minutes would bring her to Ephraim. That he was injured and helpless she knew, yet could not realize; while she could and did realize to the full all the novelty about her. The swift motion of the electric car, the gay and busy streets, the palm-bordered avenues they crossed, the ever-changing scenes of the city, each richer and more wonderful than the other, in her inexperienced eyes. She would have liked to ask many questions, but her companions were now conversing in low tones and she would not interrupt. Soon, however, she saw Mr. Sharp make a slight gesture with his hand and the car stopped. “Our street,” he said, rising.

A brief walk afterward brought them to a big building, standing somewhat back from the avenue, with a green lawn and many trees about it. Above the several gateways of its iron fence were signs, indicating: “Accident Ward,” “Convalescent’s Ward,” “General Hospital,” “Nurses’ Home,” “Dispensary,” etc., all of which confused and somewhat startled the country-reared girl. The more, it may be, as, at that moment, the gong of an ambulance warned them to step off the crossing before the “accident” alley beside the main building, and the big van dashed toward an open door.

Jessica gripped Mr. Hale’s hand, nervously, and watched in a sort of fascination while white-garbed attendants lifted an injured man from the ambulance and carried him tenderly into the hospital.

“Is–is he hurt?”

“Yes, dear, I suppose so.”

“Was it like that they brought Ephraim here?”

“Probably.”

“Oh! how dreadful! My poor, poor ‘Forty-niner.’”

“Rather, how merciful. But come; such a brave little woman as you mustn’t show the white feather at the mere sight of a hospital van. Ephraim has been well cared for, be sure; and as he has been told to expect you he’ll be disappointed if you bring him a scared, unhappy face.”

“Then I’ll–I’ll smile,” she answered, promptly, thought the effort was something of a failure.

Soon they entered the building, whose big halls were so silent in contrast with the street outside, and where the white-clad doctors and nurses seemed to Jessica like “ghosts” as they moved softly here and there. Again she clinched the lawyer’s hand and whispered:

“It’s awful. It smells queer. I’m afraid. Aren’t you?”

“Not in the least. I like it. I’ve been a patient in just such places more than once and think of them as the most blessed institutions in the world. The odor of chemicals and disinfectants is noticeable at first, but one soon gets accustomed to it and likes it. At any rate I do. But, see, we’re falling behind. Mr. Sharp evidently knows his way well and we must hurry if we’d keep him in sight.”

Indeed, the reporter was just disappearing around a turn of the broad staircase leading up into a sun-lighted corridor. He was quick and decided in all his movements, and had paused but for one instant to speak with an attendant at the door before he took his direct way to Ephraim’s room.

“Why, I supposed he was in the general ward” said Mr. Hale, as he joined Ninian, who had to stop and wait for his more leisurely advance.

“He was, but he couldn’t stand it. So I had him put into a private room and he’s much better satisfied. He has money enough to pay for it and if he hadn’t–well, it was just pitiful to see the old man’s own distress at sight of the distress of others all about him. I’d have had to do it, even if it had taken my bottom dollar.”

“True to your class! I’ve always heard that newspaper men were the most generous in the world, and now I believe it. Well, count me in, on this transaction. But when were you here?”

“Last night and–early this morning.”

“Whew! If you put such energy as that into the rest of the business you’ll make a speedy finish of it!”

“That’s my intention. Well, child, here we are. Put your best foot forward and cheer up that forlorn old chap.”

Jessica had paused to look down a great ward, opening upon that corridor, and was staring, spellbound, at the rows upon rows of white beds, each with its occupant, and at the white-capped nurses bending over this or that sufferer. The wide, uncurtained windows, all open to the soft morning air, the snowy walls, the cleanliness and repose impressed her.

“Why–it’s nice! I thought it would be dreadful; and where is Ephraim? Can I go in? How shall I find him among so many?”

“Don’t you understand? This way, I said, Lady Jess. The sharpshooter wants to see his captain.”

She turned swiftly at that, and the smile he had hoped to rouse was on her face as she caught the reporter’s hand.

“Why–how did you know that? Who told you I was Lady Jess, or captain?”

“Who but ‘Forty-niner’ himself? Here he is,” and he gently forced her through an open doorway into a little room, which seemed a miniature of the great ward beyond. There was the same white spotlessness, another kind-faced nurse, and another prostrate patient.

“Ephraim! Ephraim! You poor, dear, precious darling!”

She was beside him, her arms about his neck, her tears and kisses raining on his wrinkled face–a face that a moment before had been full of sadness and impatience, but was now brimming with delight.

“Little Lady! Little captain! I’m a pretty sort of a guardeen, I am! But, thank God, I’m not the only man in the world, and you’ve found them that can help you more than I could, with all my smartness. Did you hear about that turn-tail, Stiffleg? Wasn’t that enough to make a man disgusted with horseflesh forever after? Ugh! I wish I had him, I’d larrup him crossing before the ‘accident’ alley beside the main well! And to think you, Cassius Trent’s daughter, spent your first night in town at a station-house! Child, I’ll never dare to go home and face the ‘boys’ again, after that. Never.”

“Don’t talk too much, sir,” cautioned the nurse, offering her patient a spoonful of some nourishment.

“No, Ephraim, I’ll talk. Oh! what wouldn’t Aunt Sally give to be here now! To think she’s lost such a chance for dosing you!”

“Forty-niner” laughed and the laughter did him good; though he soon explained: “They say I’ll have to lie here for nobody knows how long, without moving, scarcely. That pesky old leg of mine did the job up thorough, while it was at it. Thought it might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, I s’pose. Well, it was the luckiest thing ever happened–you getting lost and me getting hurt. That’s the only way to look at it. But–Atlantic! How’m I ever going to stand it? Having other folks do for you and I, that’d give my right hand to help you–useless.”

“Easily, Ephraim. If it’s a good thing, as you say, why then it can’t be a bad one. Here’s your money. You must use it to pay for anything you want. Or give it all to Mr. Hale about the business. You know.”

“Money! I don’t want that. All I had they took away from me. Put it in the hospital safe till I’m ready to go out. But you can’t live in a city without hard cash in every pocket. Oh! dear! I don’t see what is to be done! One minute it all is clear and I think what I said about my accident being lucky for you; the next–I can’t stand it. What is to become of you, little captain?”

“I’m going to stay right here with you.”

“You are? You will?” demanded the patient, eagerly. “You wouldn’t be afraid? But, maybe, you wouldn’t be allowed. Hospitals are for sick folks and old fools that don’t know enough to sit a horse steady. They’re not for a happy little girl, who can make new friends for herself anywhere. No. I guess, maybe, that Mr. Hale’ll find you a place, or get you on the cars to go home again. Oh! child, I wish you were safe back at Sobrante this minute!”

“And our work not done? Foolish ‘boy!’ As if I’d leave you alone, either, when you’re ill and–and Aunt Sally so far away.”

Ephraim groaned and Jessica looked toward the reporter, who was talking earnestly with the nurse, just outside in the corridor. She heard him say:

“If it could be arranged it would be a solution of the whole difficulty. Her board would be assured, and at the first opportunity she shall be sent to her home. For the present–”

She felt it no shame to listen intently. She knew that they were discussing herself and what was to be done with her. On that subject she had already made up her own mind; so she slipped her hand from Ephraim’s and stepped to Mr. Sharp’s side.

“I want to say right here in this hospital. I will not make anybody a bit of trouble. I will mind everything I am told. I’ll not talk or laugh or anything I should not. I’ll help take care of Ephraim and there’s nobody who knows him here but me. He’s the best man there can be, and he’s old, though he doesn’t look it. Please let me stay. Anyway until all the money is spent. There’s enough for a while, I think. Please.”

In answer to the reporter’s look, rather than Jessica’s words, the nurse replied:

“Yes, we do often have friends of the patients here. If there happen to be rooms empty and so to spare. But a child–we never had a child-boarder before. I’ll consult the head nurse and let you know at once. Or, better why not go and see her for yourself?”

“I’d much prefer,” said Ninian, who had more faith in his own persuasive powers than in hers. “And I’ll take Jessica with me.”

The result was that the little girl was allowed to “remain for the present,” and was assigned a room very near Ephraim’s. Upon her good behavior, as viewed from a hospital standpoint, depended the continuance of her stay.

“She can have her clothes sent here, but only what are necessary,” added the lady, as she dismissed them.

“My clothes! Why–I don’t know where they are.”

“Whew! What do you mean? I–I never thought about clothes,” said Ninian Sharp.

“Nor I, before, since I came. I had only a change of underwear and another flannel frock. Ephraim was to buy me more if I needed, though mother thought I should not. But what I did have were in the saddlebags on Stiffleg’s back.”

“And he marched off to glory with them, the old soldier, eh? Well, that’s soon remedied. There are lots of stores in Los Angeles and lots of girls your size. I’ll get a nurse to fix you out, when she can, and now, back to Ephraim and good-by.”

CHAPTER XVII

THE FINDING OF ANTONIO

For Jessica Trent there followed weeks of a quieter life than she had lived even at isolated Sobrante. “The behavior,” which was to be a test of her stay, proved so pleasing to the hospital residents that some of them wondered how they had ever gotten along without her helpful, happy presence.

Very quickly she lost her first vague fear of the place and learned to hear in the once alarming ambulance gong the signal of relief to somebody. She modulated her voice to the prevailing quietude of the house and her footfalls were as light as the nurses themselves. To many a sufferer, coming there in dread and foreboding, the sight of a child familiar and happy about the great building brought a feeling of comfort and homelikeness which nothing else could have given. She was so apt and imitative that Ephraim often declared:

“All you need, Lady Jess, is a cap and apron to make you a regular professional. Take care of me better’n any of ’em, you do; and I’ll be a prime experience for you, that’s a fact. Another of the good things come out of my fool riding, I s’pose. You’ll be able to nurse the whole parcel of us, when you get back to Sobrante. Beat Aunt Sally all hollow, ’cause you trust a bit to nature and not all to–picra.”

“But you’re not ill, Ephraim Marsh. You’re just broken. So you don’t need medicine. All you need is patience. And your nourishments, regular.”