CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

KEN’S QUEST

When the pupils gathered on Monday morning, Miss Bayley soon realized that the little Martins had something to tell her that they believed was of great interest. It was indeed astonishing and most acceptable news. Carol, who had spent Saturday afternoon on the Valley Ranch, had been informed by Sue Piggins that little Jessica Archer was to return with her to the boarding-school in Reno. Mrs. Sethibald, the mother, had let it be known that a common log-cabin school was not good enough for a “sheep-princess,” and that from then on she was to have the best “iddication” that could be obtained, for, like as not, when she was grown, she’d be one of the first ladies of Nevada, if not of the whole land.

“The girls over there won’t like her, not the least little mite,” Sue had prophesied, “that is, not unless she changes a lot. Their fathers are all more educated, and just as rich as Mr. Archer is or ever will be.”

Miss Bayley said little when this news was told, but secretly she rejoiced. She had feared that she would be obliged by the law to report Jessica as a truant if she did not attend school anywhere, but it surely was not pleasant to anticipate her return to the little log school in Woodford’s Cañon.

So happy, indeed, did the girl-teacher feel that she wished that it were within her power to declare a half-holiday, but, since it was not, she decided to close half an hour early and take all her little pupils, Mexicans, blacksmith’s son, and the trapper’s two little girls, who always looked hungry, with the four Martins, over to her cabin to celebrate. Even while she was giving out sums in mathematics her thoughts were straying. “I’m so glad I made a mountain of a chocolate cake,” she was thinking; “and I’ll make more chocolate to drink, and for once Milly and Maggy Mullett, at least, shall have all the cake they wish.”

Mrs. Sethibald Archer would indeed have been indignant if she had known her daughter’s withdrawal from the log-cabin school was being considered an occasion for especial rejoicing.

Often during the morning Dixie glanced at Miss Bayley and thought that she never before had noticed how very young-looking she was, and, too, the girl-teacher looked as though she might begin to sing at any minute. Indeed, so real was Miss Bayley’s desire to do so that she quite upset the usual plan of study by saying: “Don’t let’s do mathematics any more this morning. Let’s each choose a song to sing.” Which they did, and how the little old schoolhouse rang, for each chose a song that they all knew well, and although little Dixie, who led them, had not the vaguest idea why teacher was so happy, the spirit of rejoicing was contagious, and her birdlike soprano voice trilled sweeter and higher, encouraging those who faltered.

When at last the solemn-faced clock, which perhaps had been watching all this unusual procedure with dignified surprise, slowly tolled the hour of ten, Miss Bayley said: “And now we will have recess. Dixie, dear, will you lead the games to-day, and Ken, will you remain with me? I wish to speak to you.”

The heart of loyal little Ken was filled with pride. It was a great honor, the pupils of Josephine Bayley thought, to be asked to remain in at recess and be talked to by teacher. Sometimes she actually asked their opinions about things, for, strange as it may seem, it was her theory that if the children would rather have red geraniums blossoming on the window-sill, instead of white, red they should be.

“It’s _your_ schoolroom,” she had told her pupils, “and here you spend the heart of every day. I want it to be beautiful in your eyes, and then I know it will be in mine.”

Was there ever another teacher so understanding as their beloved Miss Bayley?

Ken’s intelligent freckled face glowed with eagerness when at last the little line of pupils had filed out to the playground, and he was to hear why Miss Bayley had asked him to stay in at recess.

The young teacher left her desk and stepped down by his side. “Laddie,” she began, “yesterday morning early I climbed the trail that starts back of the inn, and I found a wonderful view of Lake Tahoe, but I found more than that. Guess what?”

She had placed a hand on each of his shoulders, and was looking into the wondering eyes that were so like Dixie’s, though not so dreamy, for Ken was a doer of deeds, as Pine Tree Martin had been.

“Oh, Miss Bayley, teacher, what? A bear, like ’twas. Now and then they do come down from the high Nevadas, but usually not till the snows set in.”

“Gracious, me, no, not that. If I had met a bear, I don’t suppose I should be here to-day to tell about it.”

The girl-teacher looked her consternation at the mere possibility of such a meeting, but the boy shook his head, with its unruly mop of hair that was redder than Dixie’s, as he answered, “Bears don’t touch people unless they’re cornered or come upon sudden-like.”

Then, remembering that the mystery had not been explained, he asked eagerly, “Miss Bayley, what _did_ you see?”

“A camp-fire, Ken, and although no one at all was in sight, the coals were still smoldering. Now, who do you suppose would be breakfasting on that high peak? It isn’t a trail that leads anywhere in particular, is it?”

“The Washoe Indians go over that way to Lake Tahoe fishing, but it doesn’t sound like Indians,” the boy said. Then his eyes lighted with hope. “Do you ’spose maybe ’twas a train-robber hiding?”

“Goodness, I hope not!” Miss Bayley shuddered. “I’d heaps rather have met your bear.” Then she added, “Have there been any trains robbed lately?”

The boy had to confess that he hadn’t heard of any. “There used to be lots of train and stage hold-ups when my dad was a boy,” he said, “but nowdays nothing much happens.” There was real regret in the tone of the lad, as though life in the Sierra Nevadas had become too tame to be of real interest. Then his eyes again brightened. “Well, anyhow, it might have been a sheep-rustler. How I’d like to trail him, if ’twas. There’s a State bounty for cornering one, Miss Bayley.”

The girl-teacher laughed at the boy’s eagerness. “Well, Ken,” she confessed, “all I saw was a smoldering camp-fire, and since a bear, a coyote, or a mountain lion cannot make a fire, we shall have to believe that a man had breakfasted there at sunrise, but I heard no one and saw no one.”

“Oh, Miss Bayley, teacher, how I’d like to ’vestigate. I’d like to, _awful well_, if I could get ’scused a little early. It gets dusky so soon now, and I’d need to have two hours of daylight, certain.”

This was an unusual and unexpected request, but the holiday spirit was in the heart of the girl-teacher, and so, to the great joy of the lad, she granted it. Then she added, as a new thought suggested itself: “I don’t know, dear boy, that I _ought_ to let you go, if you think it _might_ be a bandit in hiding, or anything like that. Would you be safe?”

The boy’s expression was hard for Miss Bayley to interpret. “Oh, teacher! Boys aren’t scared of bandits. They like ’em! You know that Robin Hood fellow in the book you and Dixie bought me in Reno. Now, he was a bandit, wasn’t he? A reg’lar bandit.”

The girl-teacher had to agree. “But, Ken,” she protested feebly, “he was a story-book bandit. They are different in real life, aren’t they?”

“I dunno,” the boy had to acknowledge. “I haven’t met one yet, but I’d like to. Gee whiz, Miss Bayley, I wish I could start right now. I sure do! Maybe he’s goin’ on somewhere else this afternoon. Maybe I’d catch him if I went this very minute.”

Miss Bayley laughed. She knew that it was her fault, for she had filled the boy’s mind with longing for adventure, and she also knew that he would be unable to study that day, and so she said, “But you haven’t had your lunch.”

“I’ve got my share in my pocket this minute. Could I go, Miss Bayley? Could I go now?”

What was there to do but agree, and, with a little half-suppressed whoop of joy, the boy leaped to the row of hats, snatched his own from a hook, waved it in farewell, and was gone. A wild gazelle could hardly have been more fleet of foot.

No stick did he carry to beat ahead for snakes. This little lad, born and reared in the mountains, had no fear of the other creatures dwelling there. With understanding sympathy and comradeship he made them all his friends.