The Camp Fire Girls at the End of the Trail

This morning Billy got ready his own burro and Mrs. Burton had asked Mr. Simpson to have Ralph’s waiting in case he wished it.

The order was an extraordinary one, yet Mr. Simpson, being one of the wisest of men, had asked no questions.

Naturally he had been aware of Billy’s daily disappearances, but as nothing was told him concerning them, he had appeared comfortably blind.

Now the morning was slightly misty, as many of the early fall mornings are apt to be in the neighborhood of the greatest canyon in the world.

But the mist was colored like an opal as the sun sifted its warm light slowly through.

Ralph did not attempt to keep the younger boy in sight. Only now and then he would send his pony a little more swiftly forward for a fleeting glimpse of him. He was, of course, afraid that Billy would hear him, or that he might suddenly turn around and see him.

It was not necessary that he constantly watch the other rider at the beginning of their travels, as he had a fairly good impression of the route the younger boy would take.

Ralph had been a little bored at getting up so early in the morning, as his outdoor bed had been extremely comfortable. He had slept not far away from Billy’s and Dan’s own tent, declining the offer of Dan’s cot which he had generously insisted upon his taking. Therefore, his bed had been a mattress of balsam and a pair of heavy Indian blankets.

As a matter of fact this was the first morning which Ralph Marshall had honored by arising early since his coming to Arizona. Now, quite apart from his interest in Billy Webster’s mysterious behavior and his own desire to be of service, Ralph felt repaid for his effort.

“The great point was to get started at a thing,” he argued with himself. “After that the doing of it wasn’t half bad.” It occurred to Ralph that this might be true of more important issues than the present one.

There was a possibility that Billy had only a desire to spend his days in freedom and adventure. But, if this were true, no one would have had a reasonable right to interfere with him. Now, in spite of the fact that Ralph suggested this idea to himself, he was not convinced by it.

The tiresome journey of the day before Ralph was not required to repeat. There was a more direct route to the track and from there to the small railroad station.

But, once arriving along the more open road which ran beside it, Ralph was forced to keep farther behind.

However, this was unimportant if he could manage to arrange to have Billy in sight when he reached the station. After that, he did not know what direction the boy would take, as he might continue down the track or else strike across the country.

Half a mile from the little railroad station Ralph Marshall’s saddle girth suddenly broke. As the burro he was riding was so small in comparison with his own height, Ralph’s legs almost reached the ground on either side of his mount. There was, therefore, no danger in connection with his mishap, only there was a short delay. However, the time consumed was not a matter of five minutes, required for pulling the leather straps together and rebuckling them in a fresh place.

Ralph was not seriously concerned, although having remounted he did ride on more rapidly than he had since starting out. But, for some reason he did not again come in sight of Billy Webster. Arriving at the railroad station there was still no sign of Billy.

This was puzzling. The pursuer stopped for reflection. His acquaintance of the day before was not in evidence, but there was a chance that the station master, who, at present, was in his small box, or else the keeper of the shop, would have seen Billy go by and noticed what route he had followed.

Both men declared that no boy had been seen by either of them during the entire morning.

Ralph Marshall argued the question. One or the other of them must have seen the boy, since undoubtedly a boy had passed by. But, although argument did not shake their testimony, it did make the men angry so that he was finally obliged to desist.

Then, undoubtedly in his own phraseology, Ralph felt himself up against it. He simply did not know what to do next. He must follow Billy, but one cannot well follow without knowing the plan or the direction of one’s leader.

In this life it is the first failures which are most difficult to endure. Ralph Marshall had made so few efforts of any kind in his existence, that he was profoundly disturbed by this small one.

Moreover, Ralph was at last becoming affected by Mrs. Burton’s obvious nervousness. Perhaps a successful culmination of his quest was not so unimportant as he had previously conceived it. He had wished to accomplish what he had set out to do, because Mrs. Burton was uneasy and because he was anxious to do her a favor. Incidentally he was not averse to doing one for Peggy, should conditions develop in that way. But the question of Billy’s own welfare he had never taken seriously. Therefore, it was curious that he should find himself suddenly growing uncomfortable over the boy.

Well, as one must inevitably go somewhere in this world – either forward or backward – Ralph appreciated that he could not remain indefinitely at an entirely uninteresting and apparently uneventful railroad station.

So, following an impulse – not a purpose, or even an idea – he rode away from the station and into the country.

He continued riding the greater part of the day, feeling as absurd as any foolish follower of Don Quixote’s bent upon an impossible quest.

Nevertheless, Ralph did not give up. He was tired and bored and hungry, and frequently had to get off his pony in order to allow it to rest. He found food for his burro and a little for himself at a small ranch house, but only now and then did he came in contact with a human being.

Most of the country through which he traveled was pine forest. It was ridiculous to imagine that Billy Webster could have any interest or any purpose in this unfamiliar and comparatively uninhabited region. Yet Ralph could not make up his mind to return to Sunrise camp bringing back with him no Billy, no information – nothing but a confession of failure.

An hour before twilight, however, Ralph was forced to start for camp.

He carried a compass with him; indeed he had been using one ever since his arrival in Arizona, and had been wise enough to watch the route he had followed with great care. For the latter part of the afternoon he had been traveling in a homeward direction. But now, of course, he must push straight on without further loitering.

To spend the night in the woods was entirely feasible, but without covering it would not be agreeable and nothing would be accomplished by it.

Sometimes it appears as if one must give up a desire in this world in order to accomplish it.

Certainly Ralph Marshall surrendered all thought of discovering Billy – at least on this particular day. He would try again, however, on the next day and on as many days as were necessary.

The early dusk had fallen. Ralph was walking along, leading his burro and fearing that he had overtaxed its strength, although these small ponies are supposed to be able to survive almost any test of endurance.

Then, quite unexpectedly, he heard noises. They were unmistakably human noises. Tying his burro to a nearby tree, Ralph walked cautiously toward them.

He had not, however, in any way associated the noises with the success of his own quest. For, temporarily at least, he had forgotten Billy, or rather he believed that the boy must by this time have returned to Sunrise camp.

The fact which made him most curious was, that at the present moment he was not far away from the spot where he and Peggy Webster had accidentally discovered the unknown group of men some little time before. These were the men who were apparently the strikers on the railroad.

If these were the same men whom he now overheard, Ralph was not anxious to thrust himself into their society against their wishes.

Nevertheless he was amazed when he finally saw them. Yet the men were the ones he had expected them to be.

The amazement was due to Billy Webster.

Billy was with them! But not only was he with them. In spite of his long legs he had been lifted high in the air and was seated on the shoulders of two of the biggest and strongest of the men. And Billy was making a speech!

From his hiding place Ralph could catch a glimpse of the boy’s white face in the half dusk. He could also overhear what Billy was saying.

“I tell you men it won’t do,” he argued persuasively. “You know they are on the look out for you. Haven’t I been all up and down the track for days getting reports for you? You say your strike has failed and other men are at work at your old jobs, but I can’t see how it will help you or your cause to try wrecking the track, or doing any kind of mischief. Please don’t.” His voice had a high sweetness.

He had leaned over from the men’s shoulders and spoke like a child asking a favor. Yet the older men were listening to him with serious faces.

Ralph could not believe what he actually saw and heard.

“You’ve got to win some day, if you’ll only have patience; we have all agreed on that fact,” Billy continued, still in his sweet boy’s voice. “Of course it may take a long time, but it is the biggest fight on earth, to win justice for the poor; so you know everybody has got to have a lot of patience. If you are going to do wrong things because you think the rich have done wrong to you, I can’t see how you are any better than they are. And I wouldn’t trust you any more than I do them, once you get the same power.”

It was occurring to Ralph Marshall, as he stood absorbedly listening to the youthful speaker, that Billy Webster was discussing in a simple, school-boy fashion certain of the biggest social problems of the day.

But what most impressed him was not what Billy said – almost any clever, visionary boy might have read the views he expressed and repeated them parrot fashion. The extraordinary thing was the way the men listened.

Actually, by some strange gift of nature, Billy was a leader among them – an influence they respected, even if they would not follow it.

“You made a mistake with that ugly piece of work you did the other night,” he went on pleadingly, “but no one was hurt and you have not been found out. Promise me you’ll never do a job like that again?”

Then Billy slid down to the ground again.

Afterwards Ralph Marshall could see that he went about from one of the men to the other, talking, and that in most cases the men shook their heads. But he could not hear either what Billy said, or his companion answered, when they were speaking directly to each other. It was due to the fact that Billy had been addressing the group and that he had been lifted up in the air, that had made his words audible to Ralph.

Whatever conclusion was finally reached Ralph eventually realized that the younger boy was intending to leave for home. For he solemnly went about and shook hands with each of the men, as if he were a personal friend. And, although some of them received the attention awkwardly, none of them refused it.

A little later Billy passed Ralph without observing him. He mounted his pony and began riding slowly toward Sunrise camp.

In about five minutes Ralph followed, but he allowed about twenty to elapse before he rode up alongside the younger boy.

When he did and Billy discovered his identity, he nodded in his impersonal but friendly fashion.

“Have you been on the lookout for me?” he inquired. “I had half an idea Tante would try to discover what I was doing, when I refused to tell her.

“She isn’t accustomed not to having her own way. Well, I am glad you did not run across me today. After this, perhaps, it won’t make much difference if I do give up my daily disappearances and remain at camp. I don’t think I can have any more influence as I have said all I have to say.”

CHAPTER XIX

The Arrest

Three days later Billy Webster was arrested.

Ralph Marshall was spending the afternoon at Sunrise camp when the officers arrived. With them came the man with whom he had once held a conversation concerning Billy – evidently the man who had thrown suspicion upon him.

It was about three o’clock and by chance the entire Camp Fire party was at home.

Billy, in his favorite fashion, was lying out in the sunshine on an Indian blanket, while his mother sat on one side of him, sewing, and Vera Lageloff on the other, reading to them both. They had built themselves a second camp fire in order to be a little apart from the rest of the group and not disturb any one by their reading.

For Mrs. Burton was half reclining in a big chair outside her tent, looking over a collection of manuscripts of new plays which had recently been sent to her by her husband. One of them he had chosen to appear in the next season, but he wished her opinion before finally deciding upon it.

As usual, Peggy Webster was close beside her aunt, but, in order not to interrupt, Peggy was engaged in weaving an Indian basket of sweet smelling prairie grasses. Ellen Deal was not far away but, although she held a book in her hand, she was not reading.

The day before, she had returned from her voluntary work of caring for the two invalids. But she did not yet seem to feel entirely at home in her former surroundings and, although she had endeavored to conceal the fact, Mrs. Burton and Peggy had both observed it.

The other girls were engaged in various occupations and Dan was having a nap.

Fortunately Ralph Marshall and Sally Ashton had walked a few yards along the path which led into Sunrise camp. They were first to observe the police and the man who accompanied them, before any member of the camp fire realized their errand.

Ralph had an immediate premonition of their intention, although he failed to appreciate its full seriousness.

The man whom he had seen before spoke first.

“We’ve come to arrest the kid,” he announced. “No wonder you were interested to hear all I had to say about him. I was green. I didn’t get on to the fact that you knew him. But, then, I was a long way from guessing he was mixed up with this bunch of railroad strikers.”

Apparently the man did not intend being impertinent, but was merely stating the case as he recognized it.

Nevertheless Ralph felt both angry and impotent.

“How do you know ‘the kid,’ as you call him, had anything to do with the strikers,” he inquired. “And if he did, what is that to you?”

The man shook his head.

“Nothing, maybe, except that we want to find out just how deep he was in the trouble. There were some rails torn up out of the track last night a few miles from here and a freight train went over. Lucky it was a freight, but the engineer was pretty badly hurt. We’ve got a straight tip that two or three of the strikers did the work. And we have been hearing that this boy, who is staying out here in a camp with a lot of relations and girls, has been loafing around with these same men, getting news for them and watching what was going on in places they couldn’t show themselves.”

“Nonsense,” Ralph returned. He was thinking quickly.

“Will you give me the chance to go and tell the boy’s people what you have come for?” he asked. “You see his mother is with him now and there is no telling what effect your appearance on such an errand will have on her.”

The older of the two police officers nodded, with an expression of relief. Evidently he had no taste for the task ahead of him.

This afternoon Sunrise camp looked like an idyl. The tents stood in white outline against the dark background of pine trees. In the central space before the tents a big camp fire was burning and seated about it were three or four girls in their Camp Fire costumes.

The two other groups were not for away.

Ralph went directly to Mrs. Burton. He was sorry that Peggy Webster was so near that she would be obliged to overhear him, but he dared not delay.

Under the circumstances it was well that he had given a detailed account to Mrs. Burton of his discovery of Billy and exactly what he had overheard him saying.

Billy was not aware of this fact because his aunt had never mentioned it to him. Ralph had not had any conversation with him since their return to camp together a few evenings before.

Since then, so far as any one knew, Billy had not been away for an hour.

So, in a measure Mrs. Burton was prepared for the disagreeable news Ralph brought her. In any case she was usually at her best in real difficulties; it was the smaller ones that found her unprepared.

Now she turned at once to Peggy.

“Come, dear, we must explain to your mother,” she remarked quietly, “don’t be frightened. Billy has done nothing wrong, though he may be compelled to prove the fact.”

Sally had dropped behind before Ralph delivered his message, but he accompanied the two women across the few yards of ground that separated them from Mrs. Webster.

It was curious, but none of them thought of Billy’s being particularly frightened, and yet he was a delicate, high-strung boy, not yet sixteen.

Billy was not frightened. As soon as he understood what his aunt was saying to his mother, he got up and came over to her.

“Don’t be worried, dearest,” he whispered patting her shoulder softly. “I haven’t done anything wrong – I give you my word of honor – not even anything wrong as you and father look at it. Of course, you’ll think I have been pretty headstrong and foolish and have gotten myself into a scrape. But I didn’t see it that way. I thought I could persuade the men to keep out of trouble. Well, I didn’t succeed, but I did not know I had not until now. The men promised me to be sensible.”

He put his arm around her and then turned – not to his aunt or his sister, but to Vera.

“You’ll make mother understand the way I felt, won’t you? I didn’t confide in you because I didn’t want to get you into my difficulty.”

Then he saw the two police officers approaching, with the railroad detective.

Billy smiled at them, although his face was pretty white.

“You are making a mistake in this. I had a perfect right to give the strikers all the information I ever gave them. As for any trouble you have had along the road I knew nothing about it until this minute. And I doubt if you can prove the strikers were mixed up in it anyway. Still I know there is no use in my talking to you. I’ll have to tell my story to persons higher in authority. I’ll be ready to go along with you in a few moments.”

And in ten minutes Billy had gone with them, carrying a little bag packed with a few of his belongings.

He looked very slender and young as he walked away beside the heavy, older men. But his head was up and his shoulders squared.

If he had a lump in his throat and his body shook with nervousness, he never confessed the fact.

Instead, just before he was out of sight, he turned and waved his hand gallantly to the group of his Camp Fire friends.

Mrs. Webster had gone to her tent. But the girls and Mrs. Burton received his farewell in tears. Ralph Marshall felt that he would like to have relieved himself of his own emotion by using language which was not permitted at Sunrise camp.

Before he was to return to his hotel, however, in order to attend to some business for Mrs. Burton, in connection with Billy’s arrest, Peggy Webster came to him.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said quietly.

But she held out her hand and, as Ralph took it, he felt the clasp had its old, warm friendliness.

CHAPTER XX

The Grand Canyon

“I would give a great deal to be going down into the Grand Canyon with you today, Miss Ellen.”

Ellen Deal looked closely at her companion.

“I don’t think you ought to wish for anything these days, because so much that is good has already come to you.”

She spoke seriously and was very much in earnest; nevertheless her companion laughed.

The young man and woman were standing together at the summit of a cliff. Thousands of feet below them lay the bottom of the Grand Canyon, through which the Colorado River runs for a distance of two hundred and seventeen miles, with a world of adamant and of radiant color lying between the surface of the earth and this part of its interior.

Near them were a dozen or more other persons getting ready for the descent into the canyon.

“You are perfectly right, as you are apt to be, Miss Ellen Deal,” Robert Clark returned. “Fate has been kind to me recently – kinder than I deserve. It is wonderful that Mrs. Burton’s husband is to put on my new play. I sent it to him before Marta and I had met any of her Camp Fire party. But I suppose she did bring me good luck in this as in another thing, because it was hearing that the famous Polly O’Neill Burton was in this neighborhood, which inspired me to offer my play to her husband.”

Ellen Deal nodded vigorously, the already bright color in her face growing brighter.

“Mrs. Burton says she likes your play immensely. She read the manuscript about two weeks ago. And, of course, I am sorry you can’t go down into the canyon with us. It is only my unfortunate way of expressing myself. What I really meant was that I am glad you are so much better and have had such good fortune with your writing. I don’t feel nearly so worried about you. We shall be going away from here after a little, but I feel sure now that you are going to get well.”

“And you won’t stay on with Marta and me when I have explained to you that I can now afford to pay you for the care you will give us? I know it isn’t much to offer, but I told you exactly what Mr. Burton had given me as an advance royalty on my play. Living simply, as we do out here, it ought to last some time. Besides, who knows what may happen, now my luck has turned? Queer, isn’t it, how bad fortune often brings good? If I had kept on at my newspaper job it might have been a good many years before I had the opportunity to write a play. Besides, through being ill, haven’t I come to knowing you.”

Ellen Deal blushed furiously and unbecomingly, as she already had too much color to make any more desirable. She was one of the persons who have not the faintest idea how to receive a compliment gracefully. A compliment made her even more curt and severe in her manner than usual. And Robert Clark had a Southerner’s graceful fashion of being complimentary to women in the most charming and apparently sincere way.

“I told you I would not stay with you at any price when you no longer need me. You were very much afraid of my offering you charity when I volunteered to nurse you until you were stronger. Now, that you do not require the services of a nurse, it seems you are offering charity to me. It is totally unnecessary. Mrs. Burton has asked me to continue to remain for a time longer with the Camp Fire party.”

Then, unexpectedly, Ellen Deal’s eyes filled with tears.

How utterly ungracious and unattractive her speech sounded! Nevertheless she greatly wished Mr. Clark and his sister to remember her with pleasure, when they were so soon to be separated and probably would not meet again.

But Robert Clark did not appear to be either angry or hurt.

Instead, he continued looking at the young woman beside him with a kind of grave tenderness.

“Has it never occurred to you, Ellen, that I may need and want you for other reasons; that I may wish to care for you more than I wish you to care for me? But I have no right to speak of this to you now – not until I am absolutely well.”

He held out his thin, somewhat scholarly hand and Ellen Deal put her own capable, executive one into it. She did not understand all her companion’s speech implied, and yet she had a flooding sense of happiness.

“A happy day to you; I must go now and wish Mrs. Burton good luck. You are wonderfully kind to have included Marta in your excursion into the canyon. And I have enjoyed my ride with you this far. Good-bye.”

The Camp Fire party had this morning driven along a wonderful roadway which is built beside the brink of the canyon for a number of miles. They had finished an early luncheon at an odd road house imitating the Spanish style and furnished with Spanish furniture.

At the present moment Mrs. Burton was standing on the great porch of this hotel talking to several of the Grand Canyon guides and entirely surrounded by members of her Camp Fire party. The others were not far away, but outside in the hotel grounds.