Aunt Jane's Nieces on the Ranch

“Well,” said he, spurred to action by this report, “I’m going to explore this place carefully, for if we can manage to find a way out it will save Weldon and his men from ruining that wall, and also save time, for the blamed adobe is so hard and thick that it will still require hours for them to make a hole big enough to get us out.”

CHAPTER XVII – THE PRODIGAL SON

With the added light that now came from the gratings in the ceiling every object in the upper room was plainly visible. Runyon began his inspection in a methodical manner, starting at one corner and eyeing the inner wall on every inch of its surface. He tested each block at its corners and edges. The girls watched him listlessly, for they expected no result, having covered the same methods themselves.

At length Runyon was obliged to abandon the wall in despair.

“The opening is there, of course,” he said, “but that confounded Cristoval was too clever for us. If I had the rascal here now, I’d strangle him!”

As he stood in the center of the narrow space, looking around him, his eye fell upon the upholstered seats ranged along one side and he regarded them suspiciously. They were box-like affairs, with the surface of the covers padded and cushioned.

He reached down and lifted one of the lids. As he glanced within he uttered an exclamation of astonishment. The box was almost filled with bottles, lying regularly on their sides.

“Wine!” he cried. “Now, Miss – I don’t remember to have heard your name – I shall be able to relieve your thirst.”

“My name is Travers – Mildred Travers, sir; but I can’t drink wine.”

“Not to quench your thirst – just a few swallows?” he asked, taking a bottle and trying to remove the cork.

“Not a drop, even to save my life,” she replied positively.

“But I will, Señor Runyon – I will!” cried Inez eagerly.

“Runyon!” exclaimed Mildred, stepping back in amazement and looking at the man rather wildly.

“Excuse me; haven’t I introduced myself?” he asked, looking up. “Yes; my name’s Runyon.”

Something in her expression arrested his gaze and he regarded the girl curiously.

“Bulwer Runyon?” she said in a low voice.

He sat down on the box, holding the bottle between his knees.

“They christened me that. Very foolishly, I think. But what do you know of Bulwer Runyon?”

“Your mother – is – Martha Runyon?”

“To be sure – bless her heart! Ah, you know my mother, then, and that’s how you have heard of me. But nothing good, from the dear old lady’s lips, I’ll be bound.”

“She really loves you,” replied Mildred quickly; “only – you have disappointed her.”

“Indeed I have. I’ve always disappointed her, ever since I can remember.”

“You were very extravagant,” said Mildred in a reproachful tone.

“Yes; that was my fault. Father spoiled me; then he died and left all his fortune to mother. Quite right. But mother is pretty close with her money.”

“Did she not pay all your debts?”

“Yes; but that was foolish. She reproached me for owing people, which was one of my pet recreations. So she paid the bills, bought me a ranch out here, shipped me into exile and washed her hands of me, declaring that the ranch was my sole inheritance and I must never expect another cent of her fortune. She proposes, I believe, to invest her surplus in charity. Nice idea, wasn’t it?”

“It was very generous in her,” declared Mildred.

“Was it? Well, that’s a matter of opinion. But I regard her gift of this ranch as the first step to perpetual pauperdom. She tossed the land at me, shuffled me off, and then expected me to make a living.”

“Can’t you do that?” asked Mildred wonderingly.

“Make a living on a California ranch!” he said, as if astonished.

“Others do,” she asserted.

“There is no other just like your humble servant,” he assured her, again struggling with the cork. “I can’t grow enough lemons – it’s a lemon ranch she handed me – to pay expenses. The first year I decorated my estate with a mortgage; had to have an automobile, you know. The second year I put another plaster on to pay the interest of the first mortgage and a few scattering debts. Third year, the third patch; fourth year, the usual thing. Fifth year – that’s this one – the money sharks balked. They said the ranch is loaded to its full capacity. So, I’ll have to sell some lemons.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” cried Mildred.

“So am I, thank you. Stupid thing, selling lemons. But the wolf’s at the door and all I can do is shoot lemons at the brute. Lemons! Wasn’t it tart of the dear mother to load me with such an acidulous estate? Perhaps she imagined it would make me assiduous – eh?”

“Your mother hoped you would turn over a new leaf and – and redeem your past,” said the girl.

“Well, it’s too late to do that now. I can’t redeem the past without redeeming the ranch, and that’s impossible,” he declared with a grin. “But tell me, please, how you happen to be so deep in my mother’s confidence.”

Mildred hesitated, but reflected that she really owed him an explanation.

“She protected me when I was in trouble,” she said softly.

“Ah; that’s like the dear old girl. Do you know, I’ve an idea that when I’m down and out she’ll relent and come to my assistance with a fatted calf? It would be just like her. I’ve known of others she befriended. Her hobby is to help poor girls. There was that Leighton girl, for instance, whose smuggling, murderous father was imprisoned for life. The poor little thing hadn’t a friend in the world till mother took her in hand and put her in a training school for nurses. The mother wrote me how interested she was in that case. Her protege did her credit, it seems, for the child turned out a very good nurse, who – who – ”

He suddenly paused, flushed red and stared at the girl uncertainly.

“You say your name is – Travers?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, casting down her eyes.

“Not – Leighton?”

“Cannot you pull the cork, Señor Runyon? I am so thirsty!” cried Inez quickly, to save her friend from disclosing her secret. But big Runyon was bright enough, in spite of his peculiarities. He read Mildred’s confusion and suspected the truth, but was too considerate to press the question.

“The cork is obstinate,” said he; “so we won’t argue with the thing,” and he struck the neck of the bottle against a corner of the seat and broke it so neatly that not a drop of the contents was spilled. Then he took a cup from the shelf and poured out some of the wine.

“It’s a native vintage,” said he, “but it ought to be mellow and mild after all the years it has lain here.”

Inez drank. The California Mexicans are accustomed to the native wines and consume them as freely as water. But Mildred, although again pressed to quench her thirst, steadfastly refused.

Runyon took a little of the wine, for he also was thirsty, and then he made an examination of the other seats. Some contained more wine; others were quite empty; but no water was discovered anywhere.

“Now I shall go below,” said Runyon, “and see if I can unearth anything of importance there. Do you hear those dull sounds on the other side of the wall? They tell us that our friends are busy drilling the holes. It’s wonderful how tough that adobe is.”

Little Jane had awakened again and Inez took baby Jane in her arms and, with Mildred, followed Runyon down the stairs into the lower chamber. Here they watched his careful inspection of the room but did not hope for any favorable result.