Chapter X COMPANIONSHIP

 IF food and clothes and kindness were all that is needed in this old world, Alta Morgan had all she needed. But there is one vital need that these comforts, good as they are, cannot fill, and that is true companionship. Her uncle gave her fatherly love and protection, but his thoughts were forever with his fine stock and broad hayfields, or in the memories of the stirring days gone by—the war and the wild West.   Aunt ‘Liza, the housekeeper, was a good-natured, bread-and-butter sort of woman, who could stand up under a ton of such work as washing and cooking. She could set hearty meals and keep the ranch house clean and tidy; but her conversation was limited, for the most part, to “Land sakes!” and “Law me!” Her thoughts seldom went beyond the “vittles.” Alta’s heart hungered for higher things.   If she could have found a girl to chum with, one of like tastes with her, she might have been{111} satisfied; but she could not. Sally was jolly enough, big-hearted and wholesome, but she lacked refinement. She could work like a steam engine all day, singing her way through great stacks of clothes to be washed, or big meals for hungry haymakers. She was a helpful, hearty, romping ranch girl, just the kind that Aunt ‘Liza liked. And she was also a great favorite with the fellows, with whom she would dance till morning, but whose ears she would box as quick as lightning if they grew too smart. She could joke with the whole crowd of them and hold her own, but the girl was as pure as she was frank and free. A stranger might have taken her seeming boldness for rudeness or worse, but let him make the slightest step toward evil, he would be checked like a flash and forfeit forever her heart’s hospitality.   Alta liked Sally, but they could never be chums. They both were playful and pure, but there was one strikingly essential difference in their natures that held them apart. Sally’s joys were found almost entirely in sensuous pleasures, such as dancing and feasting and riding the range; a good mince pie was more satisfying to her than a mountain sunset. She cared little for books and music. Alta thought her over bold with the boys. Their natures could never blend.{112}   Mary was nearer to Alta’s inner nature, a gentle little lass, who clung closely to her mother. She was too shy and dainty for the rugged ranch life. Alta wanted someone who liked the out-of-doors. Mary preferred to sit at home doing fancy work. They couldn’t find their fun together; and after all, fun and friendship are largely one and the same thing.   Alta Morgan’s early life had cultivated in her a taste for something better than picnics and dances and beaux. She enjoyed such pleasures, but she found a richer enjoyment in books and in nature. The warblers that twittered and trilled their morning lays out of the breezy willows, the flush of crimson in the dawning sky, the mighty mountains in their many mystic moods—all gave to her soul such feelings as often brought tears. Her heart’s eyes were always open to the wonders of the world about her. And she found them everywhere, from the tender pale-blue flaxflower at her feet to the proud eagle, sailing with the winds in the clear blue above her.   Life was joyous, full of riches, to this responsive, natural girl, developing day by day into queenly womanhood. Every day brought her new and interesting experiences that set her chattering with expressions of delight and{113} appreciation. In these moods she would run home at first to Aunt ‘Liza; but she got only “Law me! child, that’s nuthin’,” so often that she gradually grew discouraged and closed her inmost heart to the practical-minded old lady.   Her uncle tried to respond to her delight over the beautiful flower, or butterfly, or bird’s eggs she would bring to him; but somehow he couldn’t make his old bachelor’s heart be a child’s again, and Alta instinctively felt that he thought of it all as foolishness. Sally made fun of her for “talking so silly about the sunsets.” She found no comfort among these friends. Her heart grew lonely. She was longing for true companionship, for some one who could understand and share her delight in things really delightful, when Fred came into her life.   He loved the things she loved. That was their bond of sympathy. His heart’s eyes were open, too, to the glories of the wonder-world; and he, too, had found the “open sesame” to another world—the world ideal hidden in the covers of great books.   Bashful, boyish, unused to the company of girls, he had found it hard to meet Alta half way and enjoy life’s riches the more by sharing them. But this innocence and native modesty was the very thing that made possible the sweet com{114}panionship that gradually grew between them. Alta had no serious thoughts of love at that time; no more had Fred; yet something strangely sweet was in their friendship. They loved to be together. She was so natural, so full of sweet surprises that she charmed and held him. His eyes were bright with intelligence, his heart pure and warm. She trusted him instinctively; she found in him a kindred spirit. She looked through his eyes upon the world about her, and her heart leaped to feel that there was some one else who enjoyed in like measure the things that thrilled her.   So it happened that she often sought him. So it happened that they grew to be as brother and sister romping hand in hand together over nature’s playground, this wild western valley in its native glory, before commercialism had stretched its barbed fences across the trails and laid out its artificial roads for men to follow, driving with discordant noises the wild life away forever.   “Law me!” exclaimed Aunt ‘Liza the next morning during breakfast, “I wish I had some gooseberries or cherries to make a pie. I’m gettin’ tired of beef and taters and rice puddin’.”   “Will currants do?” asked Alta.   “Currants! Law, yes; any kind o’ fruit’ll do; but a body can’t git nuthin’ like that in this{115} country. It makes me homesick for old Pottawattamie County back in Ioway, where there’s tons o’ fruit fer the pickin’.”   “Yes, but there are plenty of wild currants here too,” Alta responded, “up along the creek. I found a fine patch there the other day.”   “Land sakes! why didn’t you fetch some home?”   “I had no way to carry them; but if you like I’ll get some to-day.”   “Yes, and git out o’ helpin’ wash! But never mind, I’ll excuse you if you’ll bring in somethin’ good to eat. Jest wash up these dishes while I set the clothes to movin’ and you kin go.”   Her work quickly cleared, Alta was on Eagle a few moments later, galloping briskly toward the creek. Up near the old ford the currant bushes were thick; and this year they were bending with their juicy brown fruit.   It was near where Fred grazed his herd. She came upon him this morning chasing two unruly heifers out of the brush.   “Good morning,” he called cheerfully; “what brings you here to-day?”   “Oh, I’m fishing again,” she responded laughingly; “fishing for berries this time.” She raised her pail as she spoke.{116}   “Poor place to get berries. They are thicker across the creek. I found a patch of the best wild strawberries there that I ever tasted.”   “Strawberries!” exclaimed Alta, “why, they don’t grow here, do they? I said berries, but I meant currants.”   “Come along and I’ll prove it,” he replied, “it’s just a little way.”   They galloped across the creek, Fred leading till they came to a place where the stream made a graceful bend among the aspens, and there in an opening of the grove about ten rods square was the wild berry patch.   Leaping from his horse, he found some of the berries, small but sweet and juicy, and handed them up to his companion, saying,   “There, will you believe it now?”   “Oh, this is fine!” she responded, jumping from Eagle’s back. “And Aunt ‘Liza said that this was a fruitless country. I’ll give her a big surprise.”   “Good, let me help you!” And they worked away like happy children among the berries. “There are other kinds of fruit in these mountains, too,” he went on. “Uncle Dave showed me huckleberries and raspberries and chokecherries the other day, but they’re not ready yet.{117}”   “Uncle Dave? Who’s he?” asked Alta.   “The old mountaineer that I told you about the day you caught the fish.”   “Yes, and you did not keep your promise to take me up to see him.”   “Well, I’ll certainly keep it whenever you are ready. How would you like to take a ride Saturday with me after chickens?”   “Let’s do it,” she responded, “next Saturday—Good! Where shall I come?”   “Meet me here about four o’clock.”   “All right. Now I must be getting home or Aunt ‘Liza will scold.”   “But you haven’t your currants,” suggested Fred.   “I declare I’d forgotten them! I should get a scolding for sure if I didn’t get some for her pie. But I can soon fill the pail.”   “With me to help,” said Fred; “let’s go to the patch across the creek where they’re thick.”   In a few moments they were among the currant brush, chatting merrily as they worked away. The pail was soon filled with golden-brown currants. Fred placed the lid on securely and helped Alta mount her pony.   “Oh, thank you ever so much,” she said, as she turned to ride away.{118}   “It is fun to help you,” he responded; “come again.”   “Four o’clock next Saturday; I’ll remember,” she called back.   Another pair of eager ears caught her parting words, too. Dick, returning from a fruitless quest after the work horses that morning, had come upon the two unawares. Seeing that they had not noticed him, he slipped back into the grove, where for the last few moments he had sat on his horse, eyes and ears alive to catch what was going on. But nothing significant came till he heard this good-by sentence.   It made him furiously jealous, but he held down his feelings until Alta had disappeared; then, breaking from the brush, he rode up to Fred with his usual bravado and said sneeringly,   “Hello, cow-baby! Tendin’ to business well to-day?”   With this cutting remark, he struck spurs to his horse and dashed away over the flat, leaving Fred too astonished to reply. He hurried to gather up his scattered herd, and found one of his fattest heifers missing. All the afternoon he searched for her, but night came and the animal was still gone. The boy was sorely worried.   After supper, he called Dan aside and told him about the loss, saying in conclusion, “It was my{119} fault. I shouldn’t have left the herd so long; but if I don’t find the heifer, I’ll pay for it.”   “You must keep a sharper eye on them these days,” replied Dan. “The flies drive ’em crazy. But don’t worry, boy, she’ll turn up all right to-morrow.”   Dan’s hopeful prophecy, however, did not come true. The animal never did turn up. Fred’s real troubles had begun.