American Agriculturist, October 11, 1924 
257 
The Girl at Vacada — By J. Allan Dunn 
(For synopsis, see page 259 ) 
T HE girl brought the belt and two 
straps that she took from an’old carry- 
all. Jimmy’ trussed up Furniss in the 
chair, pinching out the fire in his c-oat. 
“I sabe you fixed it so I sh’udn’t get a 
hawss,” he said. “I reckon you were 
laughin’ at me goin’ out to the Two- 
Bar. Cobb said he had none to spare an’ 
you knew it. Only, I happened to meet 
him cornin’ in to town. Saved me most 
of two hours. Now then, what have you 
been doin’ in here with my wife?” 
He saw the poster on the table, the 
telegram beside it, took them up and 
deliberately read them through, his legs 
swinging from the table top. Not a nerve 
twitched in his face as the girl watched 
him. 
“Figgerin’ to arrest me an’ make her 
go with you? What did you tell him, 
Alice?” 
“I told him I married you for better 
or for worse, that the Bee Parson said it 
was a real marriage. Furniss said lie 
could have it set aside. He said if I’d 
stay here and take his order* he’d give 
you a chance to get clear.” 
“Sweet of him. Sayin’ that as I came 
through the winder?” 
“Yes.” 
“Well, there’ll be no arrest. I’m 
makin’ my own getaway. What do you 
aim to do now, Alice?” He exhibited 
by a woman who pointed to Jimmy and 
the girl with excited gestures. The 
Mexican ran and flung himself upon a 
sleepy pony, spurring it to a gallop as he 
raced back to town. 
“Lookin’ for Furniss. They’ll be out 
after us. Recognized the hawss, likely. 
There’ll be a posse.” 
“How about machines?” the girl asked. 
“There are two in town. Furniss hires 
them sometimes.” 
“Country we’re goin’ through ain’t 
an automobile country. Give us five 
miles, an’ hoofs have got tires beaten. 
You spoke right when you said you 
c’ud ride, honey.” It was the first 
endearing word he had spoken. She 
pretended not to have heard it and he 
not to have said it. 
Side by side they drummed over the 
prairie mountainward. Gradually the 
plain rose, tilting up from the railroad. 
After ten minutes Jimmy looked back. 
So did the girl. Two miles behind them 
came a cloud of dust. 
“No machine,” he said. “Jest 
hawsses. Ten or eleven of ’em. That 
means they got el jerij free. I wonder 
how they liked his mustash?” 
Starting Next Week! 
to Big Nose Gap. We’ll blind trail an’ 
fool ’em. It'll be close to dark by then. 
They may pick it up by daylight but 
we’ll have the heels of ’em.” 
The sun wheeled westward and the 
shadow of the mountains-reached out to 
meet them. The air grew cooler and was 
burdened with sweet scent of the sage 
and other herbage on the slopes. The 
pursuit hung on, slowly closing in again. 
The heightening mountain wall showed a 
darker rent in its evening gown of purple. 
“There’s the Cap,” announced Jimmy. 
“Now then, ol’ hawss, beat her out. 
Come on, you Nelly Bly.” 
The gallant mare, forty miles back 
of her since daylight, responded to the 
call and the roan made a race of it. Their 
strides lengthened and with bellies close 
to the ground they flew through the 
increasing dusk where scarlet painter’s 
brush and golden sunflowers began to 
loom up amid the sage. Clumps of cactus 
appeared. Minute after minute they 
galloped at top speed toward a line of 
willows that marked another loop of the 
erratic river. Toward it the mountain 
shouldered out. Behind them the posse 
was almost invisible in the twilight. 
“The Trouble Maker” 
poster and message. 
“I’m goin’ with you.” 
“Knowin’ I’m a crook? With five 
hundred set up for me?” 
“If you’re a crook, you tried to keep 
me from something worse. I’m goin’ with 
you. 
“You don’t have to, Alice. I'll set 
you on the train for anywheres you want 
to go an’ stake you till you land a job.’ 
“I packed to go with you. I haven’t 
changed my mind.” 
T HE set look vanished from Jimmy’s 
features. Youth returned. 
“Hear that, Mister Deppity? We’re 
goin’. Leavin’ you to chew over the best 
thing to do. Sheriff, I’m goin’ to buy 
yore hawss. An’ saddle. What do you 
value it at? Make it fair, for I don t 
plan to argue. Call the saddle forty an’ 
the hawss a hundred. I’ll make it two 
hundred. Is that a go?” 
“You’re doin’ all the bidding,” said 
Furniss sullenly. Jimmy took the money 
from his roll, two bills of one hundred 
each, and stuffed them in the pocket of 
Furniss’s coat. 
“I’ll make out a bill of sale,” he said. 
“Just in case you might forget you ever 
sold it to me.” 
Alice got him materials, and, when he 
had written, he pushed the table over to 
the chair and set the pen in Furniss’s 
hand after he had loosened the arm and 
lifted it. 
“You sign that best way you can an’ 
I'll fix up yore shoulder. Don't fake yore 
signature. How about it, Alice? ” 
“It’s his usual writing,” she said. 
“Bueno! Now we’re off, Sheriff. 
You don’t look a bit like a reg'lar movie 
picture sheriff. I’ll have to fix that.” 
With chuckling glee, after he had ban¬ 
daged the shoulder and rebound Furniss, 
Jimmy lifted a stove lid and, with black 
soot, traced fierce mustachios with curling 
ends beneath Furniss’s nose. “I sure 
hate to hide it,” he said, “but I’ve got to 
gag you.” 
“It’s admirable,” he declared finally. 
“Got all the stuff, Alice? Adios, Senor 
Jerif, I’m borrowin’ yore gun. Spoils of 
war. Sabe?” 
Behind the shack he worked rapidly, 
stowing their baggage, shortening stirrups 
for the girl. She had changed to a faded 
khaki divided skirt and a white waist 
with an open collar about which she had 
achieved a bow of the blue ribbon. For 
hat she took her uncle’s sombrero. 
Within five minutes they were loping out 
of town, around the Mexican cabanas, 
heading for the range. 
A man sleeping on a bench was wakened 
I T is written right out of the lives and experiences of eastern 
farm folk, this story by E. R. Eastman, Editor of American 
Agriculturist. It will start next week, on this page, and is 
sure to be one of the most popular serials we have ever had. 
No one in this part of the country knows better the actual 
conditions under which farm people have lived during the 
past decade than Mr. Eastman. His story will recall to you 
the ups and downs, the defeats and victories which you your¬ 
self have experienced in the past ten years. 
Don’t miss a single number of it! You will want to keep 
a file of the copies from the first. “The Trouble Maker” 
will start with a generous installment next week. 
The girl giggled. Jimmy looked at her 
warmly. 
“At-a-girl,” he said. “That’s the way 
to play the game.” 
Ten miles out and up and a sudden 
gash appeared in the seemingly uninter¬ 
rupted plain. At the bottom of fifty- 
foot, abruptly sloping cliffs, Bitter Root 
River swung muddily in one of its wide, 
serpentine loops, running in the trough it 
had carved out of the soft soil. The 
formation existed for miles on either side. 
“No autos here,” said Jimmy briefly. 
They had not been talking much. The 
cloud of dust was still behind them, 
perhaps a little closer. “Let the mare do 
the work,” he told her. She nodded, 
leaving the reins loose. 
T he mare and the big roan Jimmy had 
purchased at forced sale snorted as they 
took survey of their job, squatted, slid 
on their haunches, then on their tails, 
slithering down to the river, floundering 
through its girth-deep current, scram¬ 
bling up the opposite side like cats, shak¬ 
ing themselves cat fashion as they reached 
the summit. 
There came the crack of guns, the 
deeper note of a rifle. A bullet sang high 
above them. Their pursuers had reached 
the ravine. It was about a hundred 
yards from edge to edge, a jiseless range 
for pistols. The rifleman was kneeling, 
pumping lead as they galloped off. 
“Furniss doin’ the big shootin’,” 
said Jimmy. “He’s got more gall than 
I thought. But he’s so plumb mad he’s 
forgot to wipe off that mustash.” Alice 
laughed, a little anxiously. Jimmy wore 
a devil-may-care expression. 
“Mare’s goin’ well,” he said. “But 
she can’t go all night. Don’t have to. 
We’ll eat an’ rest, I reckon. We’ll let 
out a bit after a while when we get close 
r pHEY pelted through the willows at 
A last and over sand to the edge of the 
stream, narrower here and running clear. 
There was more beach on the other side, 
then rocky ledges set with cactus, broken 
up into miniature canyons. 
“We’ve got to work fast,” said Jimmy 
loosening his cinch, stripping the blankets 
from under the saddle, standing in the 
water. “You stay till I lead you out.” 
She watched him as he spread his two 
blankets lengthwise and led the roan over 
them, transferring back to front as the 
horse stepped slowly on, footprints 
muffled. “I can do that,” she said. 
“Fine. Go easy. Talk to the mare. 
Don’t cut trail.” 
They blanketed their way for several 
anxious minutes until they reached the 
rocks. Across the ledges Jimmy led the 
way swiftly, turning into a ravine where 
he halted. 
“We'll take a look-see,” he whispered. 
“We’ve got them buffaloed.” 
In a moment the first of the pursuit 
broke through the willows and down to 
the water. Splashing through, the man 
bent from the saddle, checking his horse, 
calling out to the rest, then returning 
through the stream. The others scattered, 
riding up and down creek, some crossing, 
hunting signs. 
“Come on,” chuckled Jimmy. “Buenas 
noches, senors.“ 
Out of the ravine into a maze of little 
canyons they went, twisting and turning, 
gradually mounting until they came to a 
boxed-in corridor now dark in shadow. 
To the left was the mouth of a cave, or 
tunnel, high enough to let them in. 
“Old Indian mine working,” he told 
her. “Got a way out the other side an’ 
a vertical shaft in the middle. We camp 
here. There’s a pool of decent water. 
We can have a hot supper. They can’t 
see the smoke drift this time of day. 
We’ll go through in the mornin’. Home to 
Axtell’s by noon.” 
They sat by the light of the fire, burn¬ 
ing wood from the ancient timbering. 
Afterward they let the fire down. Jimmy 
fed the horses oats in a nearby stope. The 
girl listened to their contented munching, 
watching the light of Jimmy’s cigarette, 
thinking, reviewing the day. One thing 
puzzled her, Jimmy’s reply to the Bee 
Parson. He had said the money was 
clean money and she did not think he had 
lied to the minister. But he had ap¬ 
peared embarrassed. 
“Sorry you came?” 
“No, Jimmy.” The name was so close 
in her thought she used it involuntarily 
and heard him catch his breath. “You 
stuck to me when I was in trouble,” she 
went on. “Why shouldn’t I do the 
“You would,” he answered. “Better 
turn in, sister. We start early. I’m 
goin’ in with the hawsses.” 
She saw his shadowy figure disappear 
into the stope. She felt safe, perfectly 
safe. She had her pistol. He had 
promised to treat her as a sister but why 
had he had to call her that? . 
O NLY the mountain tops were pink 
when they set out after a quick 
breakfast, emerging from the far end of 
the tunnel into a tortuous ravine that 
opened at last into Big Nose Gap. All 
sign of pursuit had vanished. Cicadas 
chirped; a few birds sang as they worked 
up through the pass and came to a 
mountain park. Through it flowed a 
silver creek, one of the headwaters of 
Bitter Root. In the midst of the place 
trees grouped about ranch buildings. 
“Axtell’s, Alice,” said Jimmy. “We’ll 
fetch there for noon, easy.” 
At noon the girl found herself in the 
arms of a woman, not as maternal as she 
had fancied, perhaps six or seven years 
her senior, welcoming her gladly, taking 
her indoors to a pleasant room where she 
was left to freshen herself after the long, 
long ride. As she cleansed and dressed 
she heard the prattle of two children 
asking about the strange lady calling on 
Uncle Jimmy. It was a pleasant place, a 
real home. 
There came a rap on the door presently 
and Mrs. Axtell reappeared. She went 
straight to the girl and took her in her 
arms, kissing her. Alice wondered at the 
warmth of this second greeting. 
“You poor girl, did you believe Jimmy 
Hughes, Jimmy Trouble Hughes, was a 
crook?” 
“I saw the poster and the telegram.” 
“I fancy that poster was an old one 
picked out of the sheriff’s collection to suit 
his own purposes. The message was 
faked, Jimmy says. He could easily 
have’got a blank at the depot at Vacada, 
where he ran the town. Jimmy—why 
Jimmy never hurt a kitten. He was 
never in Cuchara but once, and my 
husband and I were both with him. That 
was late in the fall, three years ago. 
Never in the neighborhood before or 
since.” 
“But the money. He’s a cowboy, isn’t 
he? How did he—?” 
“Earn it? He didn’t. Your Jimmy 
has one fault, Alice Hughes. You can 
cure it if you want to, I imagine. He’s 
a born gambler. Ten days ago he broke 
faro bank at Aguas Caliente and wrote 
my Bill he was coming to buy into the 
ranch. They’ve always been chums and 
they’ve got a scheme for improvements 
that ought to make big money. I hope 
you’ll like it here, my dear.” 
“But,” the girl’s head was still whirling, 
“ why did he let me think that? Why did 
he let Furniss bluff him, chase us?” 
“You’d better let him tell you that. 
I’ll tell you one thing—two. Jimmy was 
in Aguas Caliente last July twenty-fifth, 
that’s one. The other is that Jimmy is 
fond of excitement and likes to handle 
things his own way. He’s out in my little 
{Continued on page 259 ) 
