Jessica, the Heiress

“Nothing the matter with you but breakdown. The result of doing two men’s work instead of one. What you need, and all you need, is a complete change of thought and scene. Go off on some ranch and take a vacation. That’s your medicine.”

“Thank you, doctor, but a prescription upon the nearest drug store would be easier to fill. In the first place I should worry all the time if I were idle, for ‘hustling’ has become my second nature. In the second–where shall I go?”

The physician shrugged his shoulders. He, also, was a busy man and having finished his visit to his patient did not prolong it. He picked up his hat, remarked that he “didn’t doubt so clever a young man could find a fitting place, if he gave what was left of his mind to it,” and bowed himself out, leaving the leaven of his sensible advice to accomplish its legitimate result.

As the doctor left the room the nurse entered, bearing with her a telegram which had been delayed en route, and a letter. It was with some reluctance that she delivered these to the man on the lounge, yet realizing, at the same time, how much worse for him was absolute cessation of all his ordinary interests. With a solicitous smile, she inquired:

“Would you not better let me read these first? They are probably unimportant.”

“Thank you, no. I’m not yet reduced to imbecility and prefer to examine my own correspondence,” returned the invalid, fretfully. Then as if ashamed of his petulance, and with a return to his ordinary manner, added: “This telegram might as well have walked. Would have saved time, judging by the date of it; and as for this letter–that, certainly, has seen better days.”

The nurse smiled again, indulgently, and busied herself in tidying the apartment; an occupation which would have incensed Ninian, since her idea of neatness seemed to him to be but the “disarrangement” of the heaps of papers and manuscript sheets scattered everywhere about, had he not been otherwise interested. A hasty examination of the messages he had received evoked his exultant exclamation:

“Hurrah! The very thing!”

“Good news?” asked the attendant.

“The best in the world. The doctor’s prescription, filled to the letter. A ranch and new business. Say, would you mind going out for a bit? I’d like to get into some other togs and in a hurry. If I can, I’ll make the one o’clock train.”

“The–one o’clock train!” gasped the bewildered nurse, believing that her charge’s brain had given away, even as the physician had suggested it might do.

“Exactly. Please don’t be alarmed. Some country friends of mine have invited me to visit them, and I judge they would be glad if I accepted at once. Their invitation fits in excellently with my own needs and, after I’ve dressed for the trip, I’d be grateful to you for packing a few things, while I write to the bank and telephone to some other places. Just touch that messenger call, will you, please?”

Certainly, he did not now look very like a sick man, as he sprang up and looked about him; save that he put his hand to his head because of a momentary dizziness and seemed somewhat unsteady on his feet. However, his eyes had lost their dullness and a faint color had come into his cheeks; and the attendant saw no reason for opposing his sudden determination.

The letter was Jessica’s, and its envelope had been mended by the postmaster after he had taken it, torn, from the mail pouch. The telegram was from Ephraim Marsh, and had been sent by the first messenger to Marion after that scene in the pantry with Aunt Sally and the little boys. It had been delayed by the curiosity of the operator, but had reached Mr. Sharp at last; and its import was that:

“If you’re willing to use your brains for Sobrante folks, as you used them once before, now’s the time. There’ll be a led horse at Marion till you come, and the sooner the better. ‘Forty-niner.’”

“A led horse. Why, he must have forgotten, if he ever knew, that I’ve my own Nimrod here, that Mrs. Trent insisted upon my accepting, when I left Sobrante before. The horse must go with me, of course, and I flatter myself I can pick up a bit of instruction on riding among those fine ‘boys’ of the little captain’s. I’ll send a return message–no, I won’t, either. I’ll trust to luck and surprise them. Now to get ready.”

A feeling that he was going “home” possessed the young man, and all his simple preparations strengthened rather than weakened him. Activity was his habit, and an hour before the train left the city he had completed his personal arrangements with his office, his bank and his landlord. He had paid his nurse the same salary she would have received had he required her services for the fortnight, as expected, and was ready for what came next.

“I feel as if I were entering upon a new life, instead of taking a rest cure,” he remarked to Mr. Hale, when that gentleman met him at the station, and explained that a Christmas invitation had come for himself, also. “And I say we’ll make it the jolliest holiday those people down there ever knew. I sent a letter to your address, after I ’phoned, and made out a list of things I’d like you to see to. Presents and so on; and I’ll write as soon as I get there and let you know what’s up with the sharpshooter. Some trouble, of course, but reckon it can’t be much. Ha! we’re off. Good-by. Forget nothing, add as much as you please to my list and send the bills to me. Good-by.”

The train rolled noiselessly away from the long platform, and the reporter for the Lancet stowed himself comfortably away on his cushions and slept as he had not slept before since this nervous illness attacked him. Not once did he awake, till the conductor touched him on the shoulder, and stated:

“End of the line, sir. Time to leave.”

Ninian sat up and shook himself, still feeling a bit dazed from his heavy slumber, and had scarcely realized the fact of his arrival before a man limped into the car and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Well done, lad. Welcome to Sobrante!”

“Hello, Mr. Marsh! You here? Sobrante? I thought–”

“Same thing. This is Marion; as near as we can get to our place on the rails. Remember, don’t you? Been sick, eh? You look rather peaked and I ’low I’d ought–”

“No apologies. Here I am, and am not ill now. Only been a little overworked; and your telegram, as well as Miss Jessica’s letter, came in the nick of time. Not an hour after the doctor had ordered this very medicine of change and recreation.”

Ephraim looked sharply at his guest and reflected:

“What our business needs is a clear head and a strong body, not an overtaxed man, as this ’pears to be. Well, sick or well, I hope he can see through some of our muddles, if not all; and half a loaf is better than no bread.” Then he gathered the traveler’s belongings, and remarked: “I told Aleck to have a good supper ready. It’s a fine night and I thought we’d ride home afterwards. Unless–”

They left the car and Ninian answered the other’s unspoken suggestion:

“No, I don’t want to stay all night, good as Janet’s beds are. I’ve had a delicious sleep and feel like another man from this morning. Hello! they’ve taken Nimrod out already, and evidently are waiting for orders. I declare, the handsome beast looks as if he recognized this place and was as glad to get back to it as I am.”

Old “Forty-niner” left his guest’s side and hurried to the spot where a trainman held the spirited animal, stroking its neck and speaking soothingly to it, to calm its excitement; and no sooner had the ranchman’s hand supplanted the trainman’s than Nimrod ceased to prance, and with a little final shiver, stood stock-still, uttering a low whinny of delight.

“That’s the talk, you beauty! Welcome home, old boy! Well, well, well! if you ain’t a sight to cure the headache! Yes, yes; it’s all right. This is Marion. We’ve got to stop at Aleck’s first. Remember Aleck? Remember Janet and her sugar? Well, well, well!”

Ninian approached, amazed and incredulous, inquiring:

“Think that creature knows what you’re saying?”

“Forty-niner” turned upon the questioner indignantly.

“That’s a fool sort of question for a smart man to ask! ‘Think’ he knows? No. There isn’t any ‘thinking’ in this. I know he knows, and I know he’s just as glad to set foot on his mother earth, here in Marion, as I was t’other day when I stepped off this same train–or its mate of the morning. I wish all the men in the world were half as brainy as he is. And I tell you what, stranger, you couldn’t have done a thing would make your own welcome so sure as fetching Nimrod with you. If you’d left him behind some of us would have had our own opinion. Though I, for one, didn’t know he was yours till this very morning.”

“And the led horse you spoke about?”

Ephraim looked up, surprised, answering, rather crisply:

“At home. Why not? When I heard about Nimrod I wasn’t silly enough to bring another.”

“So if I hadn’t brought him we’d been short a mount?” insisted the reporter, teasingly.

“One of us would had to foot it to the ranch, and that one wouldn’t have been me. Huh! Does me good to hear your nonsense gabble again. I declare it does. When did you get my telegraph?”

“This morning.”

“This–morning! Why, I sent it day before yesterday, no, the day before that. Let me see; to-day’s one, yesterday–the funeral, two–the one–yes, three days ago. John Benton himself gave it into the telegraph man’s hands. Himself.”

They mounted and started toward McLeod’s Inn, Ninian doing very well, considering the impatience of his steed and his own limited experience of the saddle, and the sharpshooter sitting as composedly upon the back of as restless an animal as could readily be found. It was a bay, and pranced and curveted to the extent that Nimrod seemed a door-mouse beside it, and Ninian finally observed:

“That’s an undecided sort of beast you have, yourself. Seems to be as much inclined to go backward as forward.”

“Hale’s. Name Prince. Was on the mesa with Pedro till he died.”

“Pedro dead? I’m sorry. Was it his ‘funeral’ you meant?”

“Yes. Terrible pity he couldn’t have held on till Christmas, his Navidad, that always meant so much to him. But he couldn’t. Things have changed at Sobrante since you was here. I’m glad you’ve come. I’m powerful glad you’ve come.”

“Any new trouble, Ephraim?”

“H’m! I should say. Ghosts, the women think, and scamps for certain. But it’s a long story, and here we are at Aleck’s. We mustn’t spoil that good supper of his and talk will keep. We’ve thirty miles ’twixt us and bed, ’less you change your mind and stop here, and that should give time enough to turn a man’s mind inside out.”

“Were you so certain of my coming that you ordered a special supper, without hearing?”