Molly McDonald | Page 8

already. It--it is even more--more primitive than I supposed. Do--do you live here--at Ripley?"
"Good Lord, no!" heartily, "though I reckon yer might not think my home wuz much better. I 'm the post-trader down at Fort Marcy, jist out o' Santa Fé. I 'll be blame glad ter git back thar too, I 'm a tellin' yer."
"That--that is what I wished to ask you about," she stammered. "The Santa Fé stage; when does it leave here? and--and where do I arrange for passage?"
He dropped knife and fork, staring at her across the table.
"Good Lord, miss," he exclaimed swiftly. "Do yer mean to say ye 're goin' to make that trip alone?"
"Oh, not to Santa Fé; only as far as the stage station at the Arkansas crossing," she exclaimed hastily. "I am going to join my father; he--he commands a post on the Cimarron--Major McDonald."
"Well, I 'll be damned," said the man slowly, so surprised that he forgot himself. "Babes in the wilderness; what, in Heaven's name, ever induced yer dad to let yer come on such a fool trip? Is n't thar no one to meet yer here, or at Dodge?"
"I--I don't know," she confessed. "Father was going to come, or else send one of his officers, but I have seen no one. I am here two days earlier than was expected, and--and I haven't heard from my father since last month. See, this is his last letter; won't you read it, please, and tell me what I ought to do?"
The man took the letter, and read the three pages carefully, and then turned back to note the date, before handing the sheets across the table.
"The Major sure made his instructions plain enough," he said slowly. "And yer have n't heard from him since, or seen any one he sent to meet yer?"
The girl shook her head slowly.
"Well, that ain't to be wondered at, either," he went on. "Things has changed some out yere since that letter was wrote. I reckon yer know we 're havin' a bit o' Injun trouble, an' yer dad is shore to be pretty busy out thar on the Cimarron."
"I--I do not think I do. I have seen no papers since leaving St. Louis. Is the situation really serious? Is it unsafe for me to go farther?"
The man rubbed his chin, as though undecided what was best to say. But the girl's face was full of character, and he answered frankly.
"It's serious 'nough, I reckon, an' I certainly wish I wus safe through to Fort Marcy, but I don't know no reason now why you could n't finish up your trip all right. I wus out to the fort last evenin' gettin' the latest news, an' thar hasn't been no trouble to speak of east of old Bent's Fort. Between thar and Union, thar's a bunch o' Mescalo Apaches raisin' thunder. One lot got as far as the Caches, an' burned a wagon train, but were run back into the mount'ns. Troops are out along both sides the Valley, an' thar ain't been no stage held up, nor station attacked along the Arkansas. I reckon yer pa 'll have an escort waitin' at the crossin'?"
"Of course he will; what I am most afraid of is that I might miss him or his messenger on the route."
"Not likely; there's only two stages a week each way, an' they have regular meeting points."
She sat quiet, eyes lowered to the table, thinking. She liked the man, and trusted him; he seemed kindly deferential. Finally she looked up.
"When do you go?"
"To-day. I was goin' to wait 'bout yere a week longer, but am gitting skeered they might quit runnin' their coaches. To tell the truth, miss, it looks some to me like thar wus a big Injun war comin', and I 'd like ter git home whar I belong afore it breaks loose."
"Will--will you take me with you?"
He moistened his lips, his hands clasping and unclasping on the table.
"Sure, if yer bound ter go. I 'll do the best I kin fer yer, an' I reckon ther sooner yer start the better chance ye 'll have o' gittin' through safe." He hesitated. "If we should git bad news at Dodge, is there anybody thar, at the fort, you could stop with?"
"Colonel Carver."
"He 's not thar now; been transferred to Wallace, but, I reckon, any o' those army people would look after yer. Ye 've really made up yer mind to try it, then?"
"Yes, yes; I positively cannot stay here. I shall go as far as Dodge at least. If--if we are going to travel together, I ought to know your name."
"Sure yer had," with a laugh. "I fergot all 'bout that--it's Moylan, miss; William Moylan; 'Sutler Bill' they call me mostly, west o' the river. Let's go out an'