Read Ebook: The Little Lady of the Horse by Raymond Evelyn Merrill Frank T Illustrator

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Ebook has 1111 lines and 50914 words, and 23 pages

"Such a day, such a day! Will it ever come noon!"

"True. And all too soon, Miss Steenie, for that I've to do. Because, what has his lordship done but give orders for a big feed for all the people who are coming to see you show off?"

"To see--me, Suzan?? Why, not me, but all the boys. I'm not to do a thing till the very last, Bob says; and then only just ride and drive a little. Maybe they will get tired, and won't stay till the end, so I won't get a chance to do anything; 'cause Bob says he's 'ranged a dreadful long program. I think that's what he called it."

"Well, well! Never mind him! Hurry up with my hair, won't you, please? My! how you do pull! I wish my father'd let me wear it short, like his; don't you?"

"Stuff! who cares for pretty? If I had to twist my hair up in rags every night, like you do, dear Suzan?, I'd be mis'able. But I s'pose you can't help it. You're grown up. It must be dreadful to get grown up, and as old as you are, poor, nice Suzan?!"

"Never mind Ellen. And I love you, dear Suzan?, if you are old; and I'm sorry ever' time I'm fidgety 'bout my hair. You won't 'member it against me, will you, after I'm gone? 'Cause I don't mean any badness; it's only this quick temper and can't-keep-stillness of mine. I just want to run, run, or something, all the time. And keeping tidy, like my father says, is a bother. There! you've done, haven't you? Can I go? Kiss me, Suzan?!"

Away danced Steenie, leaving her kind attendant feeling already heavy-hearted in anticipation of the time when there would be no restless little creature for her fond fingers to attire, and no little outbursts of impatience to correct.

But presently, all other thoughts save those connected with the immediate affairs of the day were banished by the tasks which Suzan? found to do. There were chickens to roast, cakes to bake, biscuits by the hundred to be made, and pies--such rows of pies! that the arms of cook Ellen and her assistants, Win Sing and Lun Hoy, ached with the rolling of pastry.

But they were not dismayed. Not they! Didn't they always cook just as much when the sheep were sheared, or the feast after the "roundup" was held? A pity if Santa Felisa couldn't respond to any demand made upon her larder,--especially by order of her owner, a real live British lord!

So the great ovens were fired, both in the house-kitchen and in the old adobe cooking-sheds outside; and a corps of white-aproned helpers attended the roasting and stewing and baking of all the good things which Mistress Ellen and her aids prepared. While under the eucalyptus-trees bordering the arroyo, Suzan? gayly directed the spreading of the long tables that would seat, if need be, full two hundred guests.

"Oh, isn't it fun!" cried Steenie, darting about from one point to another of the gay and busy scene; and always having in tow the perspiring Lord Plunkett, who found no breath left for even his short sentences, but contented himself by beaming graciously upon each and every one he met.

"Tug an' a canawl-boat!" said Bob, regarding the pair somewhat jealously. "Don't see why the Little Un need stick to him so closet, even if he is a bloated lord!"

"Never you mind, Bob! Let the Little Un alone. Ain't she happy? Ain't she a purty sight? Brim full o' smiles an' chipper as a wren? What more do ye want?"

"Nothin'. But 'pears ter me she needn't be so powerful glad 'bout leavin' us. I--don't feel much like laughin'. And she'd oughter be practisin'."

"Don't worrit. It'll be all right. Little Un's square. She won't ferget us, you bet! An' she'll do the 'great act' all the better fer bein' light-hearted. Land! I only hope them cold-blooded Easterners'll make her half as glad as she's always be'n at San' Felis'! But--ain't it gittin' nigh dinner-time? Folks air beginnin' ter come a'ready. Understan' the spread, general, ain't ter be till afterwards?"

"No. An' the one 't carries off first prize is ter perside. Well. I hope it'll be our 'Mascot.' Do me prouder 'n if it was myself."

"Me, too," echoed his comrade, and departed to snatch a hasty luncheon.

At the same moment, Lord Plunkett announced, breathlessly: "I--I can't. Stop. Wait. Hungry. As--a--grizzly. Ever since--I came. Beats everything. Appetite. Come. Eat."

"Oh, you dear, funny man! However can you think about eating--now? Why, I just want one o'clock to come so much I can't wait!"

"Eh? What? Not afraid? Ride--same's nobody here?"

"Why--yes," answered Steenie, slowly, as this new idea presented itself. "Why shouldn't I? Indeed, I ought to do a great, great deal better; 'cause I wouldn't like to dis'point dear old Bob. Nor you," she added politely.

"Hm-m. Bob first. Then--me. Hm-m. You're no--Anglomaniac. See that. Plain."

"Wh-a-t, sir?" asked the little girl, astonished by the long, strange word he had used.

"No matter. Nice child. Spunky--but good. The way I like them. See here?" He held up a small purse in which were displayed six glittering double eagles. "Prizes. Eh? Win 'em? Highest--three; next--two; last--one."

But Steenie was a little California girl, and her eyes were not dazzled by the sight of gold. Of its intrinsic value she had no idea; for in the course of her short life she had had no occasion to use any money. The prizes, therefore, represented nothing to her beyond themselves; and as playthings she did not care for them.

"Are they? Then I hope the boys will get them all. 'Specially Jim. He's got a mother, an' she's got a consumption, or something. And he's going to bring her out to live in California, sometime. It's ter'ble cold where she stays now, my father says; and he 'vises Jim to fetch her. They're money; and they would help, wouldn't they?"

"Hm-m. Yes. And you--don't want them?"

"If he can't win them I do. I'd rather he'd get them himself, 'cause he's so pleased when he beats anybody; but if he can't--why, I will--I hope. Now I know 'bout them, he must have them."

"Hm-m," said Lord Plunkett again, grimly. "Oddest child. Like her. Immensely."

"Steenie!" called Mr. Calthorp; and she darted toward him. "Are you sure that you wish to ride in this exhibition, darling? Are you timid? Because there are a great many here, it seems; and you need not if you do not like. It will be different from an ordinary occasion."

"But I do wish, Papa dear, if you don't mind; because Bob would break his heart if I didn't. He told me so. And I'm going to win, too. Then I'll get a lot of money to give poor old Jim, for his mother. Yes, yes! I want to ride! And I will--win!"

Before the entertainment really began, Sutro Vives gave a little private exhibition on his own account; and his dashings to and fro across the arena, directly in Lord Plunkett's point of view, were intended to excite that gentleman's curiosity and admiration,--which object was accomplished.

"Gorgeous. Old Spaniard. Silver. Robbed a mine."

Steenie, mounted on her piebald Tito, was standing close to the seat erected for the proprietor, and explained for his benefit: "Oh, Sutro has had all those things for ever so long; since he was a young man, I b'lieve. He said he would show you what an 'old Ca'fornian caballero was like!' See! He's all red and yellow and white. Listen to the tinkle of the silver chains among his trappings! Isn't he proud as proud--my Sutro? My father says his vanity would be 'musing if it weren't so 'thetic."

"Pathetic, dear;" corrected Mr. Calthorp, guided by her voice to her side.

"Pathetic? Why?" demanded Lord Plunkett.

"Because although his family was once wealthy, almost beyond compute, this poor old fellow is reduced to live a dependent on the lands that were his fathers', now a stranger's. His shrivelled body in that gay attire is but a fitting type of his changed fortunes."

"Why! Pshaw! Hm-m," commented his lordship, uneasily, distressed, as he ever was, by thought of any other's unhappiness.

"But, Papa dear, isn't he always talking about his 'estate'? He says that he is richer still than anybody hereabout; and that if he wants money all he has to do is--something or other!"

"The case with most of us," laughed Mr. Calthorp. "But Sutro does still retain a small piece of property,--small as compared with his former possessions, apparently as worthless as the Mojave. It is the last spur of the mountain range on the east, there; and, from its peculiar summit--a gigantic rock cleft into three peaks--called Santa Trinidad. Can you see? Point it out, Steenie, please."

"Yes, yes. See. Barren. Worth nothing?"

"Hm-m. Crime. Exterminate. Should be."

"They do not wander far afield; but, should they become troublesome they would, doubtless, be exterminated. The Indians are their natural enemies--or friends; seeming to have no fear of them, yet killing them off in great numbers for the sake of their oil, which is sold at high prices."

"Try to buy it. Trinidad. Hm-m. How much to offer?"

"I cannot advise you; for Sutro would fix its value at an absurdly enormous figure. Besides, there is no hope of his selling. Hark! Isn't that the signal for the 'Grand Entree'?"

The notes of a fifer, playing merrily, floated across the arena. It was the signal agreed upon, and the thirty-odd horsemen who were to participate in the tournament gathered hastily behind the canvas screen on the opposite side of the campus.

Now, as has been said, Steenie was not expected to ride until the closing part of the entertainment; and she might have remained by her father's side, a mere spectator of all the rest, had she so desired; but when, at the first notes of the musician's call, old Sutro plunged spur into Mazan?'s flank and dashed forward to the meet, her excitement rose to the highest. She sit still and watch!--while Tito's dainty hoofs were dancing up and down, like feminine feet eager for the waltz! No, no! Not so, indeed! Away she flew, and the piebald horse followed the brown mare behind the canvas wall.

"Tra-la-la! Tra-la-la! Toot-a-toot!" Emerged the young Mexican fifer on his sturdy broncho; and though he was proud indeed of his position that day, he was but the preface to the story,--unnoticed and of small account.

Sutro Vives really led the cavalcade, having been appointed to this honor because of his age, and perhaps of his assumption,--for he was not the one to lose the prestige a little swagger gives to a weak argument; and, although he was a fine rider, there were many others finer, and Kentucky Bob's great gray horse was far ahead of pretty Mazan? for symmetry and graceful strength.

However, the latter person was quite willing to "play second fiddle so long's the Little Un's with me," and she had naturally guided Tito to the gray's side.

The other actors in the entertainment followed in single file, and even a captious critic would have been forced to admit that they made a magnificent appearance. The glossy sides, the waving manes and tails, the gay caparisons and the regular hoof-beats of the beautiful animals fitly accorded with that free bearing of the stalwart riders, which is native to those who dwell in wide spaces and under no roof but the sky.

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