Ruth Fielding on Cliff Island by Alice Emerson

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"Charity!" broke in Uncle Jabez. "Ha! Yes! a fat lot of charity I've
showed you, Alviry Boggs. I reckon I've got my money's wuth out o' you
back an' bones."

The old woman stood as straight as she could and looked at the grim miller
with shining eyes. Ruth thought her face really beautiful as she smiled
and said, wagging her head at the gray-faced man:

"Oh, Jabez Potter! Jabez Potter! Nobody'll know till you're in your coffin
jest how much good you've done in this world'--on the sly! An' you'll let
this pore boy rest an' git well here before he has to go out an' hunt a
job for hisself. For my pretty, here, tells me he ain't got no home nor no
friends."

"Uh-huh!" grunted Uncle Jabez, and stumped away to the mill, fairly beaten
for the time.

"He grumbles and grunts," observed Aunt Alvirah, shaking her head as she
turned to her work again. "But out o' sight he's re'lly gettin'
tender-hearted, Ruthie. An' I b'lieve you showed him how a lot. Oh, my
back! and oh, my bones!"

Before supper time a man on horseback came to the mill and cried a warning
to the miller and his family: "Look out for your stables and pigpens.
There's three beasts loose from those wrecked menagerie cars at the
crossing, Jabez."

"Mercy on us! They ain't bound this way, are they?" demanded Uncle Jabez,
with more anxiety than he usually showed.

"Nobody knows. You know, the piece of woods yonder is thick. The menagerie
men lost them an hour ago. A big black panther--an ugly brute--and a lion
and lioness. Them last two they say is as tame as kittens. But excuse me!
I'd ruther trust the kittens," said the neighbor. Then he dug his heels in
the sides of his horse and started off to bear the news to other residents
along the road that followed this bank of the Lumano River.

Jabez shouted for Ben to hurry through his supper, and they closed the
mill tight while the womenfolk tried to close all the shutters on the
first floor of the cottage. But the "blinds" had not been closed on the
east side of the house since they were painted the previous spring. Aunt
Alviry was the kind of housekeeper who favored the morning sun and it
always streamed into the windows of the guest room.

When they tried to close the outside shutters of those windows, one had a
broken hinge that the painters had said nothing about. The heavy blind
fell to the ground.

"Goodness me!" exclaimed Ruth, running back into the house. "That old
panther could jump right into that room where Jerry is. But if we keep a
bright light in there all night, I guess he won't--if he comes this way at
all."

It was foolish, of course, to fear the coming of the marauding animal
from the shattered circus car. Probably, Ruth told herself before the
evening was half over, "Rival's Circus and Menagerie" had moved on with
all its beasts.

Uncle Jabez, however, got down the double-barreled shotgun, cleaned and
oiled it, and slipped in two cartridges loaded with big shot.

"I ain't aimin' to lose my pigs if I can help it," he said.

As the evening dragged by, they all forgot the panther scare. Jerry had
fallen asleep after supper without recourse to the medicine Dr. Davison
had left. As usual, Uncle Jabez was poring over his daybook and counting
the cash in the japanned money box.

Ruth was deep in her text books. One does forget so much between June and
September! Aunt Alvirah was busily sewing some ruffled garment for "her
pretty."

Suddenly a quick, stern voice spoke out of the guest room down the hall.

"Quick! bring that gun!"

"Hul-_lo_!" murmured Uncle Jabez, looking up.

"That poor boy's delirious," declared Aunt Alvirah.

But Ruth jumped up and ran lightly to the room where Jerry Sheming lay.

"What _is_ it?" she gasped, peering at the flushed face that was raised
from the pillow.

"That cat!" muttered Jerry.

"Oh, you're dreaming!" declared Ruth, trying to laugh.

"I ain't lived in the woods for nothin'," snapped the young fellow. "I
never see that black panther in her native wilds, o' course; but I've
tracked other kinds o' cats. And one of the tribe is 'round here----There!
hear that?"

One of the horses in the stable squealed suddenly--a scream of fear. Then
a cow bellowed.

Uncle Jabez came with a rush, in his stocking feet, with the heavy shotgun
in his hand.

"What's up?" he demanded, hoarsely.

"I am!" exclaimed Jerry, swinging his legs out of bed, despite the pain it
caused him. "Put out that light, Miss Ruth."

Aunt Alvirah hobbled in, groaning, "Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!"

Uncle Jabez softly raised the sash where the blind was missing.

"I saw her eyes," gasped Jerry, much excited. He reached out a grasping
hand. "Gimme that gun, sir, unless you are a good shot. I don't often
miss."

"You take it," muttered Uncle Jabez, thrusting the gun into the young
fellow's hand. "My--my eyes ain't what they once was."

"Send the women folk back. If she leaps in at the winder----"

Suddenly he raised the gun to his shoulder. It was so dark in the room
they all saw the crouching creature on the lawn outside. It was headed for
the open window, and its eyes gleamed like yellow coals.

In a moment the gun spoke--one long tongue of flame, followed by the
other, flashed into the night. There was a yowl, a struggle on the grass
outside, and then----

"You're something of a shot, you be, young feller!" boomed out Jabez
Potter's rough voice. "I was some mistaken in you. Ah! it hurt ye, eh?"
and he proceeded to lift the suffering Jerry back into bed as tenderly as
he would have handled Ruth herself.

They did not go out to see the dead panther until daybreak. Then they
learned that the pair of lions had already been caught by their owners.

CHAPTER IV

ON THE WAY TO BRIARWOOD

If anything had been needed to interest Ruth Fielding deeply in the young
fellow who had been injured at the scene of the railroad wreck, the
occurrence that evening at the Red Mill would have provided it.

It was not enough for her to make a veritable hero of him to Helen, and
Jane Ann, and Tom, when they came over from Outlook the following morning.
When the girl of the Red Mill was really interested in anything or
anybody, she gave her whole-souled attention to it.

She could not be satisfied with Jerry Sheming's brief account of his life
with his half-crazed uncle on some distant place called Cliff Island, and
the domestic tragedy that seemed to be the cause of the old man's final
incarceration in a madhouse.

"Tell me all about yourself--do," she pleaded with Jerry, who was to
remain in bed for several days (Uncle Jabez insisted on it himself, too!),
for the injured leg must be rested. "Didn't you live anywhere else but in
the woods?"

"That's right, Miss," he said, slowly. "I got a little schooling on the
mainland; but it warn't much. Uncle Pete used to guide around parties of
city men who wanted to fish and hunt. At the last I did most of the
guidin'. He said he could trust me, for I hated liquor as bad as him. _My_
dad was killed by it.

"Uncle Pete was a mite cracked over it, maybe. But he was good enough to
me until Rufus Blent came rummagin' round. Somehow he got Uncle Pete to
ragin'."

"Who is this Rufus Blent?" asked Ruth, curiously.

"He's a real estate man. He lives at Logwood. That's the landin' at the
east end o' the lake."

"What lake?"

"Tallahaska. You've heard tell on't?" he asked.

"Yes. But I was never there, of course."

"Well, Miss, Cliff Island is just the purtiest place! And Uncle Pete must
have had some title to it, for he's lived there all his life--and he's
old. Fifty-odd year he was there, I know. He was more than a squatter.

"I reckon he was a bit of a miser. He had some money, and he didn't trust
to banks. So he kept it hid on the island, of course.

"Then the landslide come, and he talked as though it had covered his
treasure box--and in it was papers he talked about. If he could ha' got
those papers he could ha' beat Rufus Blent off.

"That's the understandin' I got of him. Of course, he talked right ragin'
and foolish; but some things he said was onderstandable. But he couldn't
make the judge see it--nor could I. They let Rufus Blent have his way, and
Uncle Pete went to the 'sylum.

"Then they ordered me off the island. I believe Blent wanted to s'arch it
himself for the treasure box. He's a sneakin' man--I allus hated him,"
said Jerry, clenching his fist angrily.

"But they could ha' put me in the jug if I'd tried to fight him. So I come
away. Don't 'spect I'll ever see Tallahaska--or Cliff Island--again," and
the young fellow's voice broke and he turned his face away.

When Jane Ann Hicks heard something of this, through Ruth, she was eager
to help Jerry to be revenged upon the man whom he thought had cheated his
uncle.

"Let me write to Bill Hicks about it," she cried, eagerly. "He'll come on
here and get after this thieving real estate fellow--you bet!"

"I have no doubt that he would," laughed Helen, pinching her. "You'd make
him leave his ranch and everything else and come here just to do that.
Don't be rash, young lady. Jerry certainly did you a favor, but you
needn't take everything he says for the gospel truth."

"I believe myself he's honest," added Ruth, quietly.

"And I don't doubt him either," Helen Cameron said. "But we'd better hear
both sides of it. And a missing treasure box, and papers to prove that an
old hunter is owner of an island in Tallahaska, sounds--well, unusual, to
say the least."

Ruth laughed. "Helen has suddenly developed caution," she said. "What do
you say, Tom?"

"I'll get father to write to somebody at Logwood, and find out about it,"
returned the boy, promptly.

That is the way the matter was left for the time being. The next day they
were to start for school--the girls for Briarwood and Tom for Seven Oaks.

It was arranged that Jerry should remain at the Red Mill for a time. Uncle
Jabez's second opinion of him was so favorable that the miller might
employ him for a time as the harvesting and other fall work came on. And
Jane Ann left a goodly sum in the miller's hands for young Sheming's use.

"He's that independent that he wouldn't take nothing from me but a pair
of cuff links," declared Jane Ann, wiping her eyes, for she was a
tender-hearted girl under her rough exterior. "Says they will do for him
to remember me by. He's a nice chap."

"Jinny's getting sentimental," gibed Tom, slily.

"I'm not over you, Mister Tom!" she flared up instantly. "You're too
'advanced' a dresser."

"And you were the girl who once ran away from Silver Ranch and the boys
out there, because everything was so 'common,'" chuckled Tom.

Ruth shut him off at that. She knew that the western girl could not stand
much teasing.

They were all nervous, anyway; at least, the girls were. Ruth and Helen
approached their second year at Briarwood with some anxiety. How would
they be treated? How would the studies be arranged for the coming months
of hard work? How were they going to stand with the teachers?

When the two chums first went to Briarwood they occupied a double room;
but later they had taken in Mercy Curtis, a lame girl. Now that
"triumvirate" could not continue, for Jane Ann had begged to room with
Ruth and Helen.

The western girl, who was afraid of scarcely anything "on four legs or
two" in her own environment, was really nervous as she approached
boarding school. She had seen enough of these eastern girls to know that
they were entirely different from herself. She was "out of their class,"
she told herself, and if she had not been with Ruth and Helen these few
last days before the opening of the school term, she would have run away.

Ruth was going back to school this term with a delightful sense of having
gained Uncle Jabez's special approval. He admitted that schooling such as
she gained at Briarwood was of some use. And he made her a nice present of
pocket-money when she started.

The Cameron auto stopped for her at the Red Mill before mid-forenoon, and
Ruth bade the miller and Aunt Alvirah and Ben--not forgetting Jerry
Sheming, her new friend--good-bye.

"Do--_do_ take care o' yourself, my pretty," crooned Aunt Alvirah over
her, at the last. "Jest remember we're a-honin' for you here at the ol'
mill."

"Take care of Uncle Jabez," whispered Ruth. She dared kiss the grim old
man only upon his dusty cheek. Then she shook hands with bashful Ben and
ran out to her waiting friends.

"Come on, or we'll lose the train," cried Helen.

They were off the moment Ruth stepped into the tonneau. But she stood up
and waved her hand to the little figure of Aunt Alvirah in the cottage
doorway as long as she could be seen on the Cheslow road. And she had a
fancy that Uncle Jabez himself was lurking in the dark opening to the
grist-floor of the mill, and watching the retreating motor car.

There was a quick, alert-looking girl hobbling on two canes up and down
the platform at Cheslow Station. This was Mercy Curtis, the station
agent's crippled daughter.

"Here you are at last!" she cried, shrilly. "And the train already hooting
for the station. Five minutes more and you would have been too late. Did
you think I could go to Briarwood without you?"

Ruth ran up and kissed her heartily. She knew that Mercy's "bark was worse
than her bite."

"You come and see Jane Ann--and be nice to her. She doesn't look it, but
she's just as scared as she can be."

"Of course you'd have some poor, unfortunate pup, or kitten, to mother,
Ruth Fielding," snapped the lame girl.

She was very nice, however, to the girl from Silver Ranch, sat beside her
in the chair car, and soon had Jane Ann laughing. For Mercy Curtis, with
her sarcastic tongue, could be good fun if she wished to be.

Here and there, along the route to Osago Lake, other Briarwood girls
joined them. At one point appeared Madge Steele and her brother, Bob, a
slow, smiling young giant, called "Bobbins" by the other boys, who was
always being "looked after" in a most distressing fashion by his sister.

"Come, Bobby, boy, don't fall up the steps and get your nice new clothes
dirty," adjured Madge, as her brother made a false step in getting aboard
the train. "Will you look out for him, Mr. Cameron, if I leave him in your
care?"

"Sure!" said Tom, laughing. "I'll see that he doesn't spoil his pinafore
or mess up his curls."

"Say! I'd shake a sister like that if I had one," grunted "Busy Izzy"
Phelps, disgustedly.

"Aw, what's the odds?" drawled good-natured Bobbins.

The hilarious crowd boarded the _Lanawaxa_ at the landing, and after
crossing the lake they again took a train, disembarking at Seven Oaks,
where the boys' school was situated.

From here the girls were to journey by stage to Briarwood. There was
dust-coated, grinning, bewhiskered "Old Noah Dolliver" and his "Ark,"
waiting for them.

There was a horde of uniformed academy boys about to greet Tom and his
chums, and to eye the girls who had come thus far in their company. But
Ruth and her friends were not so bashful as they had been the year before.

They formed in line, two by two, and slowly paraded the length of the
platform, chanting in unison the favorite "welcome to the infants" used at
the beginning of each half at Briarwood:

"Uncle Noah, he drove an Ark--
One wide river to cross!
He's aiming to land at Briarwood Park--
One wide river to cross!
One wide river!
One wide river of Jordan!
One wide river!
One wide river to cross!"

The boys cheered them enthusiastically. The girls piled into the coach
with much laughter. Even Mercy had taken part in this fun, for the
procession had marched at an easy pace for her benefit.

Old Dolliver cracked his whip. Tom ran along in the dust on one side and
Bobbins on the other, each to bid a last good-bye to his sister.

Then the coach rolled into the shadow of the cool wood road, and Ruth and
her friends were really upon the last lap of their journey to the Hall.

CHAPTER V

A LONG LOOK AHEAD

"Hurrah! first glimpse of the old place!"

Helen cried this, with her head out of the Ark. The dust rolled up in a
cloud behind them as they topped the hill. Here Mary Cox had met Ruth and
Helen that first day, a year ago, when they approached the Hall.

There was no infant in the coach now save Jane Ann. And the chums were
determined to save the western girl from that strange and lonely feeling
they had themselves experienced.

There was nobody in view on the pastured hill. Down the slope the Ark
coasted and bye and bye Cedar Walk came into view.

"Shall we get out here, girls?" called Madge Steele, with a glance at
Mercy.

"Of course we shall," cried that sprightly person, shaking her fist at the
big senior. "Don't you dare try to spare _me_, Miss! I am getting so
strong and healthy I am ashamed of myself. Don't you dare!"

Madge kissed her warmly, as Ruth had. _That_ was the best way to treat
Mercy Curtis whenever she "exploded."

Suddenly Helen leaned out of the open half of the door on her side and
began to call a welcome to four girls who were walking briskly down the
winding pathway. Instantly they began to run, shouting joyfully in return.

"Here we be, young ladies," croaked Old Dolliver, bringing his tired
horses to a halt.

They struggled forth, Jane Ann coming last to help the lame girl--just a
mite. Then the two parties of school friends came together like the
mingling of waters.

One was a very plump girl with a smiling, rosy face; one was red-haired
and very sharp-looking, and the other two balanced each other evenly, both
being more than a little pretty, very well dressed, and one dark while the
other was light.

The light girl was Belle Tingley, and the dark one Lluella Fairfax; of
course, the red-haired one was Mary Cox, "The Fox," while the stout girl
could be no other than "Heavy" Jennie Stone.

The Fox came forward quickly and seized both of Ruth's hands. "Dear Ruth,"
she whispered. "I arrived just this morning myself. You know that my
brother is all right again?" and she kissed the girl of the Red Mill
warmly.

Belle and Lluella looked a bit surprised at Mary Cox's manifestation of
friendship for Ruth; but they did not yet know all the particulars of
their schoolmates' adventures at Silver Ranch.

Heavy was hurrying about, kissing everybody indiscriminately, and of
course performing this rite with Ruth at least twice.

"I'm so tickled to see you all, I can't tell!" she laughed. "And you're
all looking fine, too. But it does seem a month, instead of a week, since
I saw you."

"My! but you are looking bad yourself, Heavy," gibed Helen Cameron,
shaking her head and staring at the other girl. "You're just fading away
to a shadow."

"Pretty near," admitted Heavy. "But the doctor says I shall get my
appetite back after a time. I was allowed to drink the water two eggs were
boiled in for lunch, and to-night I can eat the holes out of a dozen
doughnuts. Oh! I'm convalescing nicely, thank you."

The girls who had reached the school first welcomed Jane Ann quite as
warmly as they did the others. There was an air about them all that seemed
protecting to the strange girl.

Other girls were walking up and down the Cedar Walk, and sometimes they
cast more than glances at the eight juniors who were already such
friends. Madge had immediately been swallowed up by a crowd of seniors.

"Say, Foxy! got an infant there?" demanded one girl.

"I suppose Fielding has made her a Sweetbriar already--eh?" suggested
another.

"The Sweetbriars do not have to fish for members," declared Helen, tossing
her head.

"Oh, my! See what a long tail our cat's got!" responded one of the other
crowd, tauntingly.

"The double quartette! There's just eight of them," crowed another. "There
certainly will be something doing at Briarwood Hall with those two
roomsful."

"Say! that's right!" cried Heavy, eagerly, to Ruth. "You, and Helen, and
Mercy, and Jinny, take that quartette room on our other side. We'll just
about boss that dormitory. What do you say?"

"If Mrs. Tellingham will agree," said Ruth. "I'll ask her."

"But you girls will be 'way ahead of me in your books," broke in Jane Ann.

"We needn't be ahead of you in sleeping, and in fun," laughed Heavy,
pinching her.

"Don't be offish, Miss Jinny," said Helen, calling her by the title that
the cowboys did.

"And my name--my dreadful, dreadful name!" groaned the western girl.

"I tell you!" exclaimed Ruth, "we're all friends. Let's agree how we shall
introduce Miss Hicks to the bunch. She must choose a name----"

"Why, call yourself 'Nita,' if you want to, dear," said Helen, patting the
western girl's arm. "That's the name you ran away with."

"But I'm ashamed of that. I know it is silly--and I chose it for a silly
reason. But you know what all these girls will do to 'Jane Ann,'" and she
shook her head, more than a little troubled.

"What's the matter with Ann?" demanded Mercy Curtis, sharply. "Isn't 'Ann
Hicks' sensible-sounding enough? For sure, it's not _pretty_; but we can't
all have both pretty names and pretty features," and she laughed.

"And it's mighty tough when you haven't got either," grumbled the new
girl.

"'Ann Hicks,'" quoth Ruth, softly. "I like it. I believe it sounds nice,
too--when you get used to it. 'Ann Hicks.' Something dignified and fine
about it--just as though you had been named after some really great
woman--some leader."

The others laughed; and yet they looked appreciation of Ruth Fielding's
fantasy.

"Bully for you, Ruthie!" cried Helen, hugging her. "If Ann Hicks agrees."

"It doesn't sound so bad without the 'Jane,'" admitted the western girl
with a sigh. "And Ruth says it so nicely."

"We'll all say it nicely," declared The Fox, who was a much different
"Fox" from what she had been the year before. "'Ann Hicks,' I bet you've
got a daguerreotype at home of the gentle old soul for whom you are named.
You know--silver-gray gown, pearls, pink cheeks, and a real ostrich
feather fan."

"My goodness me!" ejaculated the newly christened Ann Hicks, "you have
already arranged a very fanciful family tree for me. Can I ever live up to
such an ancestress as _that_?"

"Certainly you can," declared Ruth, firmly. "You've just _got_ to. Think
of the original Ann--as Mary described her--whenever you feel like
exploding. Her picture ought to bring you up short. A lady like that
_couldn't_ explode."

"Tough lines," grumbled the western girl. "Right from what you girls call
the 'wild and woolly,' and to have to live up to silver-gray silk and
pearls--M-m-m-m!"

"Now, say! say!" cried Belle Tingley, suddenly, and seizing upon Ruth,
about whom she had been hovering ever since they had met. "_I_ want to
talk a little. There aren't any more infants to christen, I hope?"

"Go on!" laughed Ruth, squeezing her. "What is the matter, _Bella mia_?"

"And don't talk Italian," said Belle, shrugging her shoulders. "Listen! I
promised to ask you the minute you arrived, Ruthie, and now you've been
here ten at least."

"It is something splendid," laughed Lluella, clapping her hands, evidently
being already a sharer in Belle's secret.

"I'll tell you--if they'll let me," panted Belle, shaking Ruth a little.
"Father's bought Cliff Island. It's a splendid place. We were there for
part of the summer. And there will be a great lodge built by Christmas
time and he has told me I might invite you all to come to the
house-warming. Now, Ruth! it remains with you. If you'll go, the others
will, I know. And it's a splendid place."

"Cliff Island?" gasped Ruth.

"Yes. In Lake Tallahaska."

"And your father has just bought it?"

"Yes. He had some trouble getting a clear title; but it's all right now.
They had to evict an old squatter. I want you all to come with me for the
mid-winter holiday. What do you say, Ruthie?" asked Belle, eagerly.

"I say it's a long look ahead," responded Ruth, slowly. "It's very kind of
you, Belle. But I'll have to write home first, of course. I'd like to go,
though--to Cliff Island--yes, indeed!"

CHAPTER VI

PICKING UP THE THREADS

Ann Hicks must see the preceptress at once. That came first, and Ruth
would not go into the old dormitory until the introduction of the western
girl was accomplished.

There was a whole bevy of girls on the steps of the main building, in
which Mrs. Grace Tellingham and Dr. Tellingham lived. Nobody ever thought
of putting the queer old doctor first, although all the Briarwoods
respected the historian immensely. He was considered very, very scholarly,
although it would have been hard to find any of his histories in any
library save that of Briarwood itself.

It was understood that just now he was engaged upon a treatise relating to
the possible existence of a race before the Mound Builders in the Middle
West, and he was not to be disturbed, of course, at his work.

But when Ruth and Ann Hicks entered the big office room, there he was,
bent over huge tomes upon the work table, his spectacles awry, and his wig
pushed so far back upon his head that two hands' breadth of glistening
crown was exposed.

The fiction that Dr. Tellingham was not bald might have been kept up very
well indeed, did not the gentleman get so excited while he worked. As soon
as he became interested in his books, he proceeded to bare his high brow
to all beholders, and the wig slid toward the back of his neck.

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