Virginia of Elk Creek Valley Part 13

The knowledge of New England ancestry could not keep Carver Standish from feeling small as he unsaddled the horses, and tied them in among the trees. Then, considering work a good antidote, he cut brush and brought dry sticks for a fire. A dead cedar promised logs enough for the night, and these Carver cut, trimmed, and piled. Vivian, unable as yet to comprehend the situation, stood looking off toward the fire on the point, and wished with all her heart that she had wings. Virginia unstrapped the blankets and laid them upon a fallen log. Then, the big revolver in her hand, she waited only for the fire to give those watching on Sagebrush the signals agreed upon. At last the flame-colored smoke burst into tongues of fire, leaping, crackling tongues which told the anxious watchers on Sagebrush that the note had been found and that all was well. A moment later three shots from the mountain opposite tore away the stillness.

Donald sent back an answering three. Then five in quick succession came from Virginia's revolver.

"It's the old signal we've always used in hunting," Donald explained to Mary, Priscilla, and Jack who were standing beside him. "It means, 'We're going to camp here.' I knew Virginia would decide on that. She always does the sensible thing anyway," he added proudly.

Malcolm and Aunt Nan, standing near the water's edge, watched the flames of Virginia's fire as they blazed skyward.

"I've never quite realized before what Virginia's made of," said Aunt Nan thoughtfully. "If her Grandmother Webster were here this minute, I think perhaps she'd realize that there _are_ qualities which balance being born in New England."

"Perhaps," returned Malcolm, a little doubtfully. "Perhaps she would. I've known New Englanders to realize several things. The trouble is they're very much averse to admitting it."

Meanwhile the three on the summit across the valley had dined, frugally to be sure, and somewhat silently on bread and bacon. Now sweater-clad they sat before the fire, and munched at some sweet chocolate which Carver had discovered in his coat pocket. With every nibble Vivian peered among the trees behind her, glanced fearfully right and left, and ended by gazing with longing eyes at the fire on Sagebrush Point. Carver hugged his knees, and rocked idly to and fro. Virginia gazed thoughtfully into the flames.

To her a night in a mountain forest was a privilege, whether three or nine shared its glories. To be sure, a tent would be a distinct addition, but since they had none they must do without it. Its absence was but an incident, and gave her little anxiety--far less, in fact, than the fear which she detected in the blue eyes of Vivian. For to Vivian the approaching night was a terrible ordeal through which she must go. Her reason fled away to parts unknown, and only imagination remained to create a mountain lion in every thicket, and mysterious, unearthly, disembodied presences in the air, behind her back, at her very elbow. She was grateful when Carver came to sit beside her. With Virginia on the other side, two less avenues of approach were opened. At all events she would not talk about her fear; and, acting upon her resolve, she did her best to join in the conversation on school and books and athletics.

Ten o'clock came, and Carver brought wood for the fire. Then he unrolled their blankets, spreading them over pine boughs already cut and placed upon the ground. The ground itself was a good enough mattress for him, he said, as he rolled in his blanket Indian-fas.h.i.+on, and lay down under a great pine. They need have no anxiety as to the fire. He probably should sleep but little, and would replenish it whenever wood was needed. If they wanted a thing or became frightened in the night, they should speak to him.

Vivian, sleepy in spite of her fears, lay down upon the boughs, her head in Virginia's lap. She knew she should not close her eyes, but she might as well rest. If a bear or a mountain lion came, it would make little difference whether she were sitting or reclining. Virginia was not sleepy.

She preferred to sit up.

In half an hour a long, resigned snore from the neighborhood of the great pine proved that Carver Standish had forgotten all about fires and protection. Virginia smiled to herself as she reached for more wood. There was bacon in camp and undoubtedly bears on the mountain. The combination made a big fire desirable. Moreover, she was determined that the Sagebrush Point fire, replenished from time to time by a black dot, should not eclipse her own.

"Sit up a minute, Vivian," she whispered, trying to rise. "I want to get one of those big logs which I can't reach from here. I'll be back in a moment."

But when she returned with the log, Vivian's head had dropped upon the blankets, and the flames which leaped up a moment later showed her, to Virginia's joy, to be fast asleep.

So the founder of the Vigilantes was the only one left to guard the fortunes of the camp. She took her station near the edge of the slope, a little distance from the fire, drew her blanket close around her, and began her vigil. There was so much to see and to think about! She was glad she felt wide-awake.

Deep in the gorge below her, the river called with a thousand voices. Down in the valley the pine trees reared their heads--little spear points p.r.i.c.king the purple blackness of the night. The fire on Sagebrush sparkled like a single jewel in a vast setting. Far above and beyond the valley rose the opposite height, dark and indistinct--a bridge between two worlds. To Virginia she was like an eagle, secure in his nest on the topmost pinnacle of a cliff, and looking forth upon his domain.

Now she turned her face upward toward the deep, almost transparent blue of the midnight sky. It was set with myriads of stars--great arc-lights, beacons at sea, flickering candle-flames. A star fell--it was one of the beacons--and came earthward, trailing glory in its wake. Then, the path blazed, another followed, and a third. The last was a little candle-flame, almost too tiny to find its way alone. The Milky Way was a great, golden trail across the sky. If souls traversed it on their way to the Great Throne, as she had believed when she was a little girl, they would have no difficulty to-night in finding their way. She traced its triumphant course across the heavens. It seemed to begin on earth, she thought to herself, and come back to earth again after its journey skyward. That might break in pieces her childhood dream. But perhaps there were Great Thrones on earth, too, if one only searched far enough. Who knew that there were not?

After all, Life was a search. She was beginning to realize that more every day. It meant a seeking after the best things. What were those best things, she wondered? Had she discovered the trail which, like the Milky Way, led to them? Friends.h.i.+p was one, she concluded--the real friends.h.i.+p which never demanded more than it was willing to give. And Service was another--the desire to help people over the hard, rocky places--to be a comrade, not just a spectator. Dorothy had discovered that. Then the Love of Beautiful Things must surely be a third--the love of books and pictures and of all the wonderful treasures of the out-of-doors. These were not all. There were others to be found far ahead, Virginia knew--treasures more wonderful than any yet discovered--if one searched and were worthy of finding them.

At least she knew she had discovered the key which would open the gate to the trail. She felt of it upon her waist. To be "Ever Vigilant" would open the door. To be watchful of one's opportunities; never to scorn a chance to serve; to guard against the cheap and the unlovely in books and thoughts; to keep the windows of one's soul s.h.i.+ning and clean, so that the light of all things beautiful might s.h.i.+ne in. She held the little pin close in her hand. She and Priscilla and Dorothy and Mary and Vivian would keep to the trail together.

Life was such a great, big thing she said to herself. Her breath sobbed in her throat at the thought. It was like a day in April--cloudy and sunny and wind-blown and rainy. She wanted her own life to be like that. Then she could understand the storms and clouds in other lives, and prove she was a comrade and not just an onlooker!

The fire died down and she went for more wood. As she placed a big log on the glowing embers and turned away from the heat as it burst into flame, she saw that the fire on Sagebrush was rekindled also. She could discern a shadowy shape in the light of it. Donald, perhaps. He loved the night, too. She had forgotten Donald for the moment when she chose her comrades for the Long Trail, but he must go. She had followed trails with Donald all her life, and on this great journey she needed his comrades.h.i.+p more than ever.

It was one o'clock, her little watch said--time to sleep. The great log with another added would last till morning. She rolled the second against the first, and lay down beside Vivian. The heat from the fire made her drowsy, and she soon slept. The flames leaped against the darkness; Pedro awakened and neighed questioningly; another star fell from the sky.

Carver, Virginia, and Vivian were all in lands of their own. All at once a hideous yell shattered the night silence. It shrieked and quavered and moaned, and at last died away in an echo that encircled the valley.

Virginia, mounting a rocky hill with Donald, sat up suddenly. A figure enshrouded in blankets stood beside her. Vivian mercifully slept on.

"Gee!" screamed the half-asleep and wholly frightened Carver Standish III.

"What was that?"

"A mountain lion," said Virginia, shaking in spite of herself. "But he's miles away across the valley. I'm glad Vivian didn't wake up. She'd have been scared to death."

"I shouldn't blame her!" replied Carver in a stentorian whisper. "I never heard anything like it in my life. My! I'm sleepy! It's most eleven, isn't it?"

Virginia smiled into the darkness. Not for worlds would she have told Carver of his unsuccessful vigil.

"Yes, Carver," she said. "It's--it's past eleven!"

Alone she watched the day come as she had watched it go. She saw the last stars fade away, and the half-light of early morning greet the eastern mountains. She felt in a strange silence the mystery and majesty of dawn.

A mourning dove in a far-away thicket said farewell to the night; an early morning wind stirred the quaking-asps; an orange and yellow bird left his nest and mate to fly across the valley toward a sky-line of his own hue.

The trees stood expectant. Then the light came in long, golden rays. It was day.

By six they were on their way to breakfast with their fellow-campers at Sagebrush--Vivian, incredulous that the night was really over and that she had slept; Carver, secretly much disturbed over his protecting powers; Virginia, eager, radiant, buoyant. Donald waited for them on the other side of the Canyon Path, and watched their safe transit. Aunt Nan and the others were ready at the camp with welcomes and words of genuine admiration.

"I'd have been worried to death about you," said Priscilla with her arm around Virginia, "if it hadn't been for Carver's being there. Yes, I would, Virginia. I don't care how much you know about camping. A man's being around makes a heap of difference. You know it does!"

"Of course," agreed the loyal Virginia.

But Carver Standish III drank his coffee in silence, glad for once that the cup was large enough to hide his face.

CHAPTER XII

THE ROMAN EMPEROR

The late August days came relentlessly on, each in turn being seized by the Vigilantes and placed in a treasure-house of never-to-be-forgotten joys. The month which they had planned in June was lengthening into six weeks. Mr. Hunter and Virginia had insisted and Aunt Nan seemed very loath to go. Already they were quite Westernized. They "rustled" and "cached"

and "packed" things without even stopping to think, and _r's_ were unmistakably creeping into Priscilla's strictly Bostonian speech. What _would_ the Winthrop family say?

Every day the country grew lovelier. A veil of bronze and purple was being laid softly over the foot-hills, and the waiting wheat stood golden. Day after day the sun rose in glory, and after a cloudless journey set in a golden sea. In the woods the berries of the kinnikinnick grew red, and on the lawn the mountain ash trees stood clothed in holiday attire. The air was clear and bracing; the nights were cold. One morning the highest mountain was white with snow, which, when the sun rose higher, hurried away, as though it had told a secret. September was on the way, and these were her forerunners.

"I never supposed," announced Priscilla one morning at breakfast, "that weeks could go so fast. It makes old age seem awfully close. And still I know how slowly they go sometimes, like January at St. Helen's, for instance. Just sixteen more days, and we'll be going back East, Virginia.

Dad says if I'm not back by the tenth, they'll motor to the White Mountains without me. I'm afraid I can't help feeling superior when I view the White Mountains after seeing these!"

Virginia was busily counting on her fingers.

"I'm trying to remember just what we've done and what we haven't done,"

she said. "Then we can see what's left. We've ridden hundreds of miles, and we've climbed mountains, and trapped a bear, and shot gophers, and fished, and homesteaded, and camped, and visited Aunt Deborah and Jean MacDonald. I'm so glad Jean went to Aunt Deborah's with us. It was such fun having her along. Then we've been up to Mystic Lake, and out on the range with Joe and William, and----"

"But you haven't visited the Roman Emperor," interrupted her father. "I stopped at his place yesterday on my way home from Willow Creek, and found him at home, flag out and all. He promised me some water-cress, but I couldn't wait for it. You see," he added, smiling at the puzzled faces around him, "it isn't every one who can see the Emperor. It takes a special errand. In this case, it's water-cress."

"We'll go this very day!" cried Virginia. "Cottonwood Canyon can wait! Don and I've been planning it all along, but he said Mr.--the Emperor, I mean--was away up in the mountains. I'll telephone over for the boys this minute."

Not to question had become a Vigilante principle; and not to appear too curious, another. Still the mystery which filled their minds concerning the Emperor was ill-concealed. They knew Patrick Sheehan, the old Vigilante, who lived on the Lone Mountain trail, and queer Aunt Susan Nevitt, who was reputed to have a bag of gold nuggets in the cellar of her tumble-down cabin. But of this personage, the Roman Emperor, they had surely never heard! Curiosity lent haste to their fingers, and in half an hour they were ready to start.

"His ca--_estate_ is off the road to Willow Creek," Virginia explained as they went out to greet the boys. "We've ridden by the driveway loads of times, but I knew he wasn't at home by his flag not being out. That's the sign. It's that way in England, you know, at the king's and dukes'

palaces. When they're at home, the flag is flying."

"I see," said Priscilla, as she mounted Cyclone. "Is the Emperor old?"

"Rather. He's nearly eighty. You see, he's been reigning twenty-five years, hasn't he, Don?"