Lanty Foster's Mistake

by Bret Harte

Lanty Foster was crouching on a low stool before the dying kitchenfire, the better to get its fading radiance on the book she wasreading. Beyond, through the open window and door, the fire wasalso slowly fading from the sky and the mountain ridge whence thesun had dropped half an hour before. The view was uphill, and thesky-line of the hill was marked by two or three gibbet-like polesfrom which, on a now invisible line between them, depended certainobjects--mere black silhouettes against the sky--which bore weirdlikeness to human figures. Absorbed as she was in her book, shenevertheless occasionally cast an impatient glance in thatdirection, as the sunlight faded more quickly than her fire. Forthe fluttering objects were the "week's wash" which had to bebrought in before night fell and the mountain wind arose. It wasstrong at that altitude, and before this had ravished the clothesfrom the line, and scattered them along the highroad leading overthe ridge, once even lashing the shy schoolmaster with a pair ofLanty's own stockings, and blinding the parson with a reallytempestuous petticoat.A whiff of wind down the big-throated chimney stirred the logembers on the hearth, and the girl jumped to her feet, closing thebook with an impatient snap. She knew her mother's voice wouldfollow. It was hard to leave her heroine at the crucial moment ofreceiving an explanation from a presumed faithless lover, just toclimb a hill and take in a lot of soulless washing, but such arethe infelicities of stolen romance reading. She threw the clothes-basket over her head like a hood, the handle resting across herbosom and shoulders, and with both her hands free started out ofthe cabin. But the darkness had come up from the valley in onestride after its mountain fashion, had outstripped her, and she wasinstantly plunged in it. Still the outline of the ridge above herwas visible, with the white, steadfast stars that were not there amoment ago, and by that sign she knew she was late. She had tobattle against the rushing wind now, which sung through theinverted basket over her head and held her back, but with bentshoulders she at last reached the top of the ridge and the level.Yet here, owing to the shifting of the lighter background aboveher, she now found herself again encompassed with the darkness.The outlines of the poles had disappeared, the white flutteringgarments were distinct apparitions waving in the wind, like dancingghosts. But there certainly was a queer misshapen bulk movingbeyond, which she did not recognize, and as she at last reached oneof the poles, a shock was communicated to it, through the clothes-line and the bulk beyond. Then she heard a voice say impatiently,--"What in h-ll am I running into now?"It was a man's voice, and, from its elevation, the voice of a manon horseback. She answered without fear and with slowdeliberation,--"Inter our clothes-line, I reckon.""Oh!" said the man in a half-apologetic tone. Then in briskeraccents, "The very thing I want! I say, can you give me a bit ofit? The ring of my saddle girth has fetched loose. I can fastenit with that.""I reckon," replied Lanty, with the same unconcern, moving nearerthe bulk, which now separated into two parts as the man dismounted."How much do you want?""A foot or two will do."They were now in front of each other, although their faces were notdistinguishable to either. Lanty, who had been following the lineswith her hand, here came upon the end knotted around the last pole.This she began to untie."What a place to hang clothes," he said curiously."Mighty dryin', tho'," returned Lanty laconically."And your house? Is it near by?" he continued."Just down the ridge--ye kin see from the edge. Got a knife?" Shehad untied the knot."No--yes--wait." He had hesitated a moment and then producedsomething from his breast pocket, which he however kept in hishand. As he did not offer it to her she simply held out a sectionof the rope between her hands, which he divided with a single cut.She saw only that the instrument was long and keen. Then shelifted the flap of the saddle for him as he attempted to fasten theloose ring with the rope, but the darkness made it impossible.With an ejaculation, he fumbled in his pockets. "My last match!"he said, striking it, as he crouched over it to protect it from thewind. Lanty leaned over also, with her apron raised between it andthe blast. The flame for an instant lit up the ring, the man'sdark face, mustache, and white teeth set together as he tugged atthe girth, and Lanty's brown, velvet eyes and soft, round cheekframed in the basket. Then it went out, but the ring was secured."Thank you," said the man, with a short laugh, "but I thought youwere a humpbacked witch in the dark there.""And I couldn't make out whether you was a cow or a b'ar," returnedthe young girl simply.Here, however, he quickly mounted his horse, but in the actionsomething slipped from his clothes, struck a stone, and boundedaway into the darkness."My knife," he said hurriedly. "Please hand it to me." Butalthough the girl dropped on her knees and searched the grounddiligently, it could not be found. The man with a restrainedejaculation again dismounted, and joined in the search."Haven't you got another match?" suggested Lanty."No--it was my last!" he said impatiently."Just you hol' on here," she said suddenly, "and I'll run down tothe kitchen and fetch you a light. I won't be long.""No! no!" said the man quickly; "don't! I couldn't wait. I'vebeen here too long now. Look here. You come in daylight and findit, and--just keep it for me, will you?" He laughed. "I'll comefor it. And now, if you'll only help to set me on that road again,for it's so infernal black I can't see the mare's ears ahead of me,I won't bother you any more. Thank you."Lanty had quietly moved to his horse's head and taken the bridle inher hand, and at once seemed to be lost in the gloom. But in a fewmoments he felt the muffled thud of his horse's hoof on the thickdust of the highway, and its still hot, impalpable powder rising tohis nostrils."Thank you," he said again, "I'm all right now," and in the pausethat followed it seemed to Lanty that he had extended a partinghand to her in the darkness. She put up her own to meet it, butmissed his, which had blundered onto her shoulder. Before shecould grasp it, she felt him stooping over her, the light brush ofhis soft mustache on her cheek, and then the starting forward ofhis horse. But the retaliating box on the ear she had promptlyaimed at him spent itself in the black space which seemed suddenlyto have swallowed up the man, and even his light laugh.For an instant she stood still, and then, swinging the basketindignantly from her shoulder, took up her suspended task. It wasno light one in the increasing wind, and the unfastened clothes-line had precipitated a part of its burden to the ground throughthe loosening of the rope. But on picking up the trailing garmentsher hand struck an unfamiliar object. The stranger's lost knife!She thrust it hastily into the bottom of the basket and completedher work. As she began to descend with her burden she saw that thelight of the kitchen fire, seen through the windows, was augmentedby a candle. Her mother was evidently awaiting her."Pretty time to be fetchin' in the wash," said Mrs. Fosterquerulously. "But what can you expect when folks stand gossipin'and philanderin' on the ridge instead o' tendin' to their work?"Now Lanty knew that she had NOT been "gossipin'" nor "philanderin',"yet as the parting salute might have been open to that imputation,and as she surmised that her mother might have overheard theirvoices, she briefly said, to prevent further questioning, that shehad shown a stranger the road. But for her mother's unjustaccusation she would have been more communicative. As Mrs. Fosterwent back grumblingly into the sitting-room Lanty resolved to keepthe knife at present a secret from her mother, and to that purposeremoved it from the basket. But in the light of the candle she sawit for the first time plainly--and started.For it was really a dagger! jeweled-handled and richly wrought--such as Lanty had never looked upon before. The hilt was studdedwith gems, and the blade, which had a cutting edge, was damascenedin blue and gold. Her soft eyes reflected the brilliant setting,her lips parted breathlessly; then, as her mother's voice arose inthe other room, she thrust it back into its velvet sheath andclapped it into her pocket. Its rare beauty had confirmed herresolution of absolute secrecy. To have shown it now would havemade "no end of talk." And she was not sure but that her parentswould have demanded its custody! And it was given to HER by HIM tokeep. This settled the question of moral ethics. She took thefirst opportunity to run up to her bedroom and hide it under themattress.Yet the thought of it filled the rest of her evening. When herhousehold duties were done she took up her novel again, partly fromforce of habit and partly as an attitude in which she could thinkof IT undisturbed. For what was fiction to her now? True, itpossessed a certain reminiscent value. A "dagger" had appeared inseveral romances she had devoured, but she never had a clear ideaof one before. "The Count sprang back, and, drawing from his belta richly jeweled dagger, hissed between his teeth," or, more to thepurpose: "'Take this,' said Orlando, handing her the ruby-hiltedpoignard which had gleamed upon his thigh, 'and should the caitiffattempt thy unguarded innocence--'""Did ye hear what your father was sayin'?" Lanty started. It washer mother's voice in the doorway, and she had been vaguelyconscious of another voice pitched in the same querulous key,which, indeed, was the dominant expression of the small ranchers ofthat fertile neighborhood. Possibly a too complaisant andunaggressive Nature had spoiled them."Yes!--no!" said Lanty abstractedly, "what did he say?""If you wasn't taken up with that fool book," said Mrs. Foster,glancing at her daughter's slightly conscious color, "ye'd know!He allowed ye'd better not leave yer filly in the far pasturenights. That gang o' Mexican horse-thieves is out again, andraided McKinnon's stock last night."This touched Lanty closely. The filly was her own property, andshe was breaking it for her own riding. But her distrust of herparents' interference was greater than any fear of horse-stealers."She's mighty uneasy in the barn; and," she added, with a proudconsciousness of that beautiful yet carnal weapon upstairs, "Ireckon I ken protect her and myself agin any Mexican horse-thieves.""My! but we're gettin' high and mighty," responded Mrs. Foster,with deep irony. "Did you git all that outer your fool book?""Mebbe," said Lanty curtly.Nevertheless, her thoughts that night were not entirely based onwritten romance. She wondered if the stranger knew that she hadreally tried to box his ears in the darkness, also if he had beenable to see her face. HIS she remembered, at least the flash ofhis white teeth against his dark face and darker mustache, whichwas quite as soft as her own hair. But if he thought "for aminnit" that she was "goin' to allow an entire stranger to kissher--he was mighty mistaken." She should let him know it "prettyquick"! She should hand him back the dagger "quite careless like,"and never let on that she'd thought anything of it. Perhaps thatwas the reason why, before she went to bed, she took a good look atit, and after taking off her straight, beltless, calico gown sheeven tried the effect of it, thrust in the stiff waistband of herpetticoat, with the jeweled hilt displayed, and thought it lookedcharming--as indeed it did. And then, having said her prayers likea good girl, and supplicated that she should be less "tetchy" withher parents, she went to sleep and dreamed that she had gone out totake in the wash again, but that the clothes had all changed to thequeerest lot of folks, who were all fighting and struggling witheach other until she, Lanty, drawing her dagger, rushed up single-handed among them, crying, "Disperse, ye craven curs,--disperse, Isay." And they dispersed.Yet even Lanty was obliged to admit the next morning that all thiswas somewhat incongruous with the baking of "corn dodgers," thefrying of fish, the making of beds, and her other household duties,and dismissed the stranger from her mind until he should "happenalong." In her freer and more acceptable outdoor duties she eventolerated the advances of neighboring swains who made a point ofpassing by "Foster's Ranch," and who were quite aware that AtalantaFoster, alias "Lanty," was one of the prettiest girls in thecountry. But Lanty's toleration consisted in that singularperformance known to herself as "giving them as good as they sent,"being a lazy traversing, qualified with scorn, of all that theyadvanced. How long they would have put up with this from a plaingirl I do not know, but Lanty's short upper lip seemed framed forindolent and fascinating scorn, and her dreamy eyes usually lookedbeyond the questioner, or blunted his bolder glances in theirvelvety surfaces. The libretto of these scenes was not exhaustive,e.g.:--The Swain (with bold, bad gayety). "Saw that shy schoolmasterhangin' round your ridge yesterday! Orter know by this time thatshyness with a gal don't pay."Lanty (decisively). "Mebbe he allows it don't get left as often asimpudence."The Swain (ignoring the reply and his previous attitude andbecoming more direct). "I was calkilatin' to say that with theseyer hoss-thieves about, yer filly ain't safe in the pasture. Itook a turn round there two or three times last evening to see ifshe was all right."Lanty (with a flattering show of interest). "No! DID ye, now? Iwas jest wonderin"'--The Swain (eagerly). "I did--quite late, too! Why, that'snothin', Miss Atalanty, to what I'd do for you."Lanty (musing, with far off-eyes). "Then that's why she was soawful skeerd and frightened! Just jumpin' outer her skin withhorror. I reckoned it was a b'ar or panther or a spook! You oughtto have waited till she got accustomed to your looks."Nevertheless, despite this elegant raillery, Lanty was enoughconcerned in the safety of her horse to visit it the next day witha view of bringing it nearer home. She had just stepped into thealder fringe of a dry "run" when she came suddenly upon the figureof a horseman in the "run," who had been hidden by the alders fromthe plain beyond and who seemed to be engaged in examining the hoofmarks in the dust of the old ford. Something about his figurestruck her recollection, and as he looked up quickly she saw it wasthe owner of the dagger. But he appeared to be lighter of hair andcomplexion, and was dressed differently, and more like a vaquero.Yet there was the same flash of his teeth as he recognized her, andshe knew it was the same man.Alas for her preparation! Without the knife she could not makethat haughty return of it which she had contemplated. And morethan that, she was conscious she was blushing! Nevertheless shemanaged to level her pretty brown eyebrows at him, and said sharplythat if he followed her to her home she would return his propertyat once."But I'm in no hurry for it," he said with a laugh,--the same lightlaugh and pleasant voice she remembered,--"and I'd rather not cometo the house just now. The knife is in good hands, I know, andI'll call for it when I want it! And until then--if it's all thesame to you--keep it to yourself,--keep it dark, as dark as thenight I lost it!""I don't go about blabbing my affairs," said Lanty indignantly,"and if it hadn't BEEN dark that night you'd have had your earsboxed--you know why!"The stranger laughed again, waved his hand to Lanty, and gallopedaway.Lanty was a little disappointed. The daylight had taken away someof her illusions. He was certainly very good-looking, but notquite as picturesque, mysterious, and thrilling as in the dark!And it was very queer--he certainly did look darker that night!Who was he? And why was he lingering near her? He was differentfrom her neighbors--her admirers. He might be one of thoselocaters, from the big towns, who prospect the lands, with a viewof settling government warrants on them,--they were always sosecret until they had found what they wanted. She did not dare toseek information of her friends, for the same reason that she hadconcealed his existence from her mother,--it would provoke awkwardquestions; and it was evident that he was trusting to her secrecy,too. The thought thrilled her with a new pride, and was somecompensation for the loss of her more intangible romance. It wouldbe mighty fine, when he did call openly for his beautiful knife anddeclared himself, to have them all know that SHE knew about it allalong.When she reached home, to guard against another such surprise shedetermined to keep the weapon with her, and, distrusting herpocket, confided it to the cheap little country-made corset whichonly for the last year had confined her budding figure, and whichnow, perhaps, heaved with an additional pride. She was quiteabstracted during the rest of the day, and paid but littleattention to the gossip of the farm lads, who were full of a daringraid, two nights before, by the Mexican gang on the large stockfarm of a neighbor. The Vigilant Committee had been baffled; itwas even alleged that some of the smaller ranchmen and herders werein league with the gang. It was also believed to be a widespreadconspiracy; to have a political complexion in its combination of analien race with Southwestern filibusters. The legal authoritieshad been reinforced by special detectives from San Francisco.Lanty seldom troubled herself with these matters; she knew theexaggeration, she suspected the ignorance of her rural neighbors.She roughly referred it, in her own vocabulary, to "jaw," apeculiarly masculine quality. But later in the evening, when thedomestic circle in the sitting-room had been augmented by aneighbor, and Lanty had taken refuge behind her novel as an excusefor silence, Zob Hopper, the enamored swain of the previousevening, burst in with more astounding news. A posse of thesheriff had just passed along the ridge; they had "corraled" partof the gang, and rescued some of the stock. The leader of the ganghad escaped, but his capture was inevitable, as the roads werestopped. "All the same, I'm glad to see ye took my advice, MissAtalanty, and brought in your filly," he concluded, with aninsinuating glance at the young girl.But "Miss Atalanty," curling a quarter of an inch of scarlet lipabove the edge of her novel, here "allowed" that if his advice orthe filly had to be "took," she didn't know which was worse."I wonder ye kin talk to sech peartness, Mr. Hopper," said Mrs.Foster severely; "she ain't got eyes nor senses for anythin' butthat book.""Talkin' o' what's to be 'took,'" put in the diplomatic neighbor,"you bet it ain't that Mexican leader! No, sir! he's been'stopped' before this--and then got clean away all the same! Oneo' them detectives got him once and disarmed him--but he managed togive them the slip, after all. Why, he's that full o' shifts anddisguises thar ain't no spottin' him. He walked right under theconstable's nose oncet, and took a drink with the sheriff that wasarter him--and the blamed fool never knew it. He kin change eventhe color of his hair quick as winkin'.""Is he a real Mexican,--a regular Greaser?" asked the paternalFoster. "Cos I never heard that they wuz smart.""No! They say he comes o' old Spanish stock, a bad egg they threwouter the nest, I reckon," put in Hopper eagerly, seeing a strangeanimated interest dilating Lanty's eyes, and hoping to share in it;"but he's reg'lar high-toned, you bet! Why, I knew a man who seedhim in his own camp--prinked out in a velvet jacket and silk sash,with gold chains and buttons down his wide pants and a dagger stuckin his sash, with a handle just blazin' with jew'ls. Yes! MissAtalanty, they say that one stone at the top--a green stone, whatthey call an 'em'ral'--was worth the price o' a 'Frisco house-lot.True ez you live! Eh--what's up now?"Lanty's book had fallen on the floor as she was rising to her feetwith a white face, still more strange and distorted in an affectedyawn behind her little hand. "Yer makin' me that sick and nervouswith yer fool yarns," she said hysterically, "that I'm goin' to geta little fresh air. It's just stifling here with lies andterbacker!" With another high laugh, she brushed past him into thekitchen, opened the door, and then paused, and, turning, ranrapidly up to her bedroom. Here she locked herself in, tore openthe bosom of her dress, plucked out the dagger, threw it on thebed, where the green stone gleamed for an instant in thecandlelight, and then dropped on her knees beside the bed with herwhirling head buried in her cold red hands.It had all come to her in a flash, like a blaze of lightning,--theblack, haunting figure on the ridge, the broken saddle girth, theabandonment of the dagger in the exigencies of flight andconcealment; the second meeting, the skulking in the dry, alder-hidden "run," the changed dress, the lighter-colored hair, butalways the same voice and laugh--the leader, the fugitive, theMexican horse-thief! And she, the Godforsaken fool, the chuckle-headed nigger baby, with not half the sense of her own filly orthat sop-headed Hopper--had never seen it! She--SHE who would bethe laughing-stock of them all--she had thought him a "locater," a"towny" from 'Frisco! And she had consented to keep his knifeuntil he would call for it,--yes, call for it, with fire and flameperhaps, the trampling of hoofs, pistol shots--and--yet--Yet!--he had TRUSTED her. Yes! trusted her when he knew a wordfrom her lips would have brought the whole district down on him!when the mere exposure of that dagger would have identified anddamned him! Trusted her a second time, when she was within cry ofher house! When he might have taken her filly without her knowingit? And now she remembered vaguely that the neighbors had said howstrange it was that her father's stock had not suffered as theirshad. HE had protected them--he who was now a fugitive--and theirmen pursuing him! She rose suddenly with a single stamp of hernarrow foot, and as suddenly became cool and sane. And then, quiteher old self again, she lazily picked up the dagger and restored itto its place in her bosom. That done, with her color back and hereyes a little brighter, she deliberately went downstairs again,stuck her little brown head into the sitting-room, said cheerfully,"Still yawpin', you folks," and quietly passed out into the darkness.She ran swiftly up to the ridge, impelled by the blind memory ofhaving met him there at night and the one vague thought to give himwarning. But it was dark and empty, with no sound but the rushingwind. And then an idea seized her. If he were haunting thevicinity still, he might see the fluttering of the clothes upon theline and believe she was there. She stooped quickly, and in themerciful and exonerating darkness stripped off her only whitepetticoat and pinned it on the line. It flapped, fluttered, andstreamed in the mountain wind. She lingered and listened. Butthere came a sound she had not counted on,--the clattering hoofs ofnot ONE, but many, horses on the lower road! She ran back to thehouse to find its inmates already hastening towards the road fornews. She took that chance to slip in quietly, go to her room,whose window commanded a view of the ridge, and crouching lowbehind it she listened. She could hear the sound of voices, andthe dull trampling of heavy boots on the dusty path towards thebarnyard on the other side of the house--a pause, and then thereturn of the trampling boots, and the final clattering of hoofs onthe road again. Then there was a tap on her door and her mother'squerulous voice."Oh! yer there, are ye? Well--it's the best place fer a girl--withall these man's doin's goin' on! They've got that Mexican horse-thief and have tied him up in your filly's stall in the barn--tillthe 'Frisco deputy gets back from rounding up the others. So yejest stay where ye are till they've come and gone, and we're shuto' all that cattle. Are ye mindin'?""All right, maw; 'taint no call o' mine, anyhow," returned Lanty,through the half-open door.At another time her mother might have been startled at her passiveobedience. Still more would she have been startled had she seenher daughter's face now, behind the closed door--with her littlemouth set over her clenched teeth. And yet it was her own child,and Lanty was her mother's real daughter; the same pioneer bloodfilled their veins, the blood that had never nourished cravens ordegenerates, but had given itself to sprinkle and fertilize desertsolitudes where man might follow. Small wonder, then, that thisfrontier-born Lanty, whose first infant cry had been answered bythe yelp of wolf and scream of panther; whose father's rifle hadbeen leveled across her cradle to cover the stealthy Indian whoprowled outside, small wonder that she should feel herself equal tothese "man's doin's," and prompt to take a part. For even in thefirst shock of the news of the capture she recalled the fact thatthe barn was old and rotten, that only that day the filly hadkicked a board loose from behind her stall, which she, Lanty, hadlightly returned to avoid "making a fuss." If his captors had notnoticed it, or trusted only to their guards, she might make theopening wide enough to free him!Two hours later the guard nearest the now sleeping house, a farmhand of the Fosters', saw his employer's daughter slip out andcautiously approach him. A devoted slave of Lanty's, and familiarwith her impulses, he guessed her curiosity, and was not averse tosatisfy it and the sense of his own importance. To her whispers ofaffected, half-terrified interest, he responded in whispers thatthe captive was really in the filly's stall, securely bound by hiswrists behind his back, and his feet "hobbled" to a post. ThatLanty couldn't see him, for it was dark inside, and he was sittingwith his back to the wall, as he couldn't sleep comf'ble lyin'down. Lanty's eyes glowed, but her face was turned aside."And ye ain't reckonin' his friends will come and rescue him?" saidLanty, gazing with affected fearfulness in the darkness."Not much! There's two other guards down in the corral, and I'dfire my gun and bring 'em up."But Lanty was gazing open-mouthed towards the ridge. "What's thatwavin' on the ridge?" she said in awe-stricken tones.She was pointing to the petticoat,--a vague, distant, moving objectagainst the horizon."Why, that's some o' the wash on the line, ain't it?""Wash--TWO DAYS IN THE WEEK!" said Lanty sharply. "Wot's gone ofyou?""Thet's so," muttered the man, "and it wan't there at sundown, I'llswear! P'r'aps I'd better call the guard," and he raised his rifle."Don't," said Lanty, catching his arm. "Suppose it's nothin',they'll laugh at ye. Creep up softly and see; ye ain't afraid, areye? If ye are, give me yer gun, and I'LL go."This settled the question, as Lanty expected. The man cocked hispiece, and bending low began cautiously to mount the acclivity.Lanty waited until his figure began to fade, and then ran like fireto the barn.She had arranged every detail of her plan beforehand. Crouchingbeside the wall of the stall she hissed through a crack inthrilling whispers, "Don't move. Don't speak for your life's sake.Wait till I hand you back your knife, then do the best you can."Then slipping aside the loosened board she saw dimly the blackoutline of curling hair, back, shoulders, and tied wrists of thecaptive. Drawing the knife from her pocket, with two strokes ofits keen cutting edge she severed the cords, threw the knife intothe opening, and darted away. Yet in that moment she knew that theman was instinctively turning towards her. But it was one thing tofree a horse-thief, and another to stop and "philander" with him.She ran halfway up the ridge, and met the farm hand returning. Itwas only a bit of washing after all, and he was glad he hadn'tfired his gun. On the other hand, Lanty confessed she had got "soskeert" being alone, that she came to seek him. She had theshivers; wasn't her hand cold? It was, but thrilling even in itscoldness to the bashfully admiring man. And she was that weak anddizzy, he must let her lean on his arm going down; and they must goSLOW. She was sure he was cold, too, and if he would wait at theback door she would give him a drink of whiskey. Thus Lanty, withher brain afire, her eyes and ears straining into the darkness, andthe vague outline of the barn beyond. Another moment wasprotracted over the drink of whiskey, and then Lanty, with a faintarchness, made him promise not to tell her mother of her escapade,and she promised on her part not to say anything about his"stalking a petticoat on the clothesline," and then shyly closedthe door and regained her room. HE must have got away by thistime, or have been discovered; she believed they would not open thebarn door until the return of the posse.She was right. It was near daybreak when they returned, and, againcrouching low beside her window, she heard, with a fierce joy, thesudden outcry, the oaths, the wrangling voices, the summoning ofher father to the front door, and then the tumultuous sweeping awayagain of the whole posse, and a blessed silence falling over therancho. And then Lanty went quietly to bed, and slept like athree-year child!Perhaps that was the reason why she was able at breakfast to listenwith lazy and even rosy indifference to the startling events of thenight; to the sneers of the farm hands at the posse who hadoverlooked the knife when they searched their prisoner, as well asthe stupidity of the corral guard who had never heard him make ahole "the size of a house" in the barn side! Once she glanceddemurely at Silas Briggs--the farm hand and the poor fellow feltconsoled in his shame at the remembrance of their confidences.But Lanty's tranquillity was not destined to last long. There wasagain the irruption of exciting news from the highroad; the Mexicanleader had been recaptured, and was now safely lodged in Brownsvillejail! Those who were previously loud in their praises of thesuccessful horse-thief who had baffled the vigilance of his pursuerswere now equally keen in their admiration of the new San Franciscodeputy who, in turn, had outwitted the whole gang. It was HE whowas fertile in expedients; HE who had studied the whole country, andeven risked his life among the gang, and HE who had again closed themeshes of the net around the escaped outlaw. He was alreadyreturning by way of the rancho, and might stop there a moment,--sothat they could all see the hero. Such was the power of success onthe country-side! Outwardly indifferent, inwardly bitter, Lantyturned away. She should not grace his triumph, if she kept in herroom all day! And when there was a clatter of hoofs on the roadagain, Lanty slipped upstairs.But in a few moments she was summoned. Captain Lance Wetherby,Assistant Chief of Police of San Francisco, Deputy Sheriff and ex-U. S. scout, had requested to see Miss Foster a few moments alone.Lanty knew what it meant,--her secret had been discovered; but shewas not the girl to shirk the responsibility! She lifted herlittle brown head proudly, and with the same resolute step withwhich she had left the house the night before, descended the stairsand entered the sitting-room. At first she saw nothing. Then aremembered voice struck her ear; she started, looked up, andgasping, fell back against the door. It was the stranger who hadgiven her the dagger, the stranger she had met in the run!--thehorse-thief himself! No! no! she saw it all now--she had cut loosethe wrong man!He looked at her with a smile of sadness--as he drew from hisbreast-pocket that dreadful dagger, the very sight of which Lantynow loathed! "This is the SECOND time, Miss Foster," he saidgently, "that I have taken this knife from Murietta, the Mexicanbandit: once when I disarmed him three weeks ago, and he escaped,and last night, when he had again escaped and I recaptured him.After I lost it that night I understood from you that you had foundit and were keeping it for me." He paused a moment and went on: "Idon't ask you what happened last night. I don't condemn you forit; I can believe what a girl of your courage and sympathy mightrightly do if her pity were excited; I only ask--why did you giveHIM back that knife I trusted you with?""Why? Why did I?" burst out Lanty in a daring gush of truth,scorn, and temper. "BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU WERE THAT HORSE-THIEF.There!"He drew back astonished, and then suddenly came that laugh thatLanty remembered and now hailed with joy. "I believe you, byJove!" he gasped. "That first night I wore the disguise in which Ihave tracked him and mingled with his gang. Yes! I see it all now--and more. I see that to YOU I owe his recapture!""To me!" echoed the bewildered girl; "how?""Why, instead of making for his cave he lingered here in theconfines of the ranch! He thought you were in love with him,because you freed him and gave him his knife, and stayed to seeyou!"But Lanty had her apron to her eyes, whose first tears were fillingtheir velvet depths. And her voice was broken as she said,--"Then he--cared--a--good deal more for me--than some people!"But there is every reason to believe that Lanty was wrong! Atleast later events that are part of the history of Foster's Ranchoand the Foster family pointed distinctly to the contrary.

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