THE GETTING-ACQUAINTED TRIP
"If--if you'll excuse me, Virginia, I'd--I'd really rather stay at home
with Hannah and your father."
It was Vivian who spoke. She was clad in a new riding-suit, which had been
worn only during a few trembling and never-to-be-forgotten moments of the
day before, when Donald had led the oldest and safest horse on the ranch
to and fro beneath the cottonwoods. Old Siwash would never have thrown
Vivian. Far was it from him to treat a guest of his mistress in that
manner. But in spite of stirrups, saddle-horn, and the reassuring presence
of Donald, Vivian had, in some mysterious way, slipped from the saddle,
and fallen in an ignominious little heap by the wayside.
It had been more ignominious to have Priscilla and Mary, who had
themselves been riding but an hour, come cantering--actually
_cantering_--up with Virginia to see if she were hurt. She almost wished
she had been hurt. If her leg had been broken, or old Siwash had kicked,
or even her face been cut just a little, she might have been regarded not
exactly as a heroine, perhaps, but as a martyr at least. However, nothing
was broken except her spirit; old Siwash had stood stock-still; and her
face had shown no sign of anything save fright and dirt. The whole
situation was quite too much to be borne, and did not need the disdainful
glance which the critical blue eyes of Carver Standish had cast upon her.
The Vigilantes had been lovely as they led their horses and walked to the
house with her; Aunt Nan, who had had her first lesson with Malcolm Keith
that morning, was comforting; Mr. Hunter encouraging; and Donald the
finest boy she had ever known in her life. It had really seemed as though,
with them all to stand by her, she could mount again the next morning and
go on the much-dreamed of getting-acquainted trip to Lone Mountain. But
now the time to go had come, and her courage had fled. She had beckoned
Virginia from the corral where the men were saddling the horses, and
drawn her away to a secluded spot. Virginia did not need Vivian's
confession. Her frightened face was quite enough.
"I--I just can't do it, Virginia!" she finished.
Virginia considered for a long moment. Then her clear gray eyes met
Vivian's frightened blue ones.
"Vivian," she said, "perhaps you'll be angry with me for speaking so
plainly to you, but I've just got to do it. If you don't want the
Vigilantes to be dead ashamed of you, here's your chance this minute! I
believe way down in my heart that things come to us so that we can show
what's really in us--how--how far down we've been putting our roots into
good soil, you know. Now this has come to you! There isn't a thing to be
afraid of except just Fear, which I admit is a monster; but if you let
that control you, you'll spoil your whole life. Jim used to teach me that.
Siwash wouldn't hurt a baby! I rode him when I was four years old. We're
just going to trail up the mountain as slowly as can be, and Don will ride
with you every minute. When there are really things to be afraid of,
people excuse a coward; but when there isn't a thing in this world, they
don't! So if you don't come, Vivian, and show us what you are made of,
you're a _coward inside_, that's all!"
It was hard, blunt doctrine, built on seventeen years of wholesome life in
a land where cowardice has found no room; but at that moment it was just
what Vivian Winters needed. From her frightened heart the fear of Siwash
fled only to give place to a more dreadful fear, the contempt and scorn of
the Vigilantes. Better be thrown by Siwash than despised by Virginia and
Priscilla, Mary and the far-away Dorothy. She had no time to tell Virginia
that she would go after all, and to ask her to try to forget her
cowardice, for the boys called just then that all was ready. But Virginia
understood, for as they hurried toward the corral she held Vivian's hand
closely in her own, and gave it a final, encouraging squeeze, as Vivian
edged a cautious way toward Siwash and the faithful Donald.
After all, it was not so hard. Donald allowed the others to go ahead--the
two pack-horses first with tents and provisions, for they were to camp
for the night, then Malcolm, Aunt Nan and the others. He and Vivian,
riding slowly, brought up the rear. Vivian, determination rising in her
soul, was firmly seated and clutching the saddle-horn. She might be
thrown, but she would never, never fall again! But old Siwash was faithful
to his trust, and Donald was close at hand. Vivian vowed inwardly that she
would always bless Donald. Under his calm assurance, her fear gradually
went away, and in fifteen minutes she was willing to let go her hold upon
the saddle-horn, and to try to follow his instructions. He taught her how
to place her feet in the stirrups, how to clutch with her knees, how to
rise in the saddle for a trot, how to sit back for a canter; until at
length--wonder of wonders!--Vivian, her hair flying in the wind, her eyes
filled with triumph, actually _cantered_ with Donald at her side toward
the others, who to a rider turned in their saddles and cheered her
approach. And pride filled every one's eyes--even the critical ones of
Carver Standish III.
So now that the worst was over, no one enjoyed the trip more than Vivian.
She kept wondering what her timid mother would say could she see her
daughter in the suit which hours of pleading had with difficulty procured,
and on a real Western horse, riding past the grain-fields, up the canyon,
and on into the trail that led up the mountain-side.
Only three of the nine had ever ridden through a canyon or followed a
mountain trail, and those three experienced the keenest delight in
pointing out every object of interest to the others--the blue lupines and
pink cranesbill, which made the occasional open spaces riotous with color,
the forget-me-nots growing in shady places, and the rare orchids, which
they discovered after they had penetrated to the heart of the mountain
forest.
It was beautiful in among the timber. Great spruces and pines towered
above them like masts to the journeying earth. The sunlight fell in
shimmering, golden patches upon the moss-grown and leaf-covered ground. In
the more open places grew buck-brush and the service-berry, Oregon grape
with its holly-shaped leaves, blue lupines, Indian paint-brush and great
mountain ferns. It was very still when they stopped their horses to rest.
Only the wind in the great trees above them, the chatter of a squirrel
remonstrating against this intrusion into his solitude, a strange sad
bird-note farther up the mountain, and the occasional fall of a leaf or
creak of a limb as it rubbed shoulders with its neighbor, broke the
silence. Once in a clearing a deer and her fawn gazed at them with
wondering eyes before leaping through the ferns into the safe shelter of
the timber.
Up--up--up they went. The trail wound in and out around the mountain-side,
and their sure-footed horses followed it, never daunted by fallen trees or
by rocky and precipitous places. More than once every Vigilante save one
held her breath as she was carried up a dangerous, almost obliterated path
to heights beyond. But Virginia's Pedro, who was far-famed as a trailer,
led the way, and his rider called back reassuring words to those behind.
By noon the air was cold. They were near snow, Malcolm said. A few minutes
more and they had reached it--a veritable snow-bank in late July. The
Vigilantes, reenforced by Aunt Nan, challenged the boys to a snow-ball
fight, and they all dismounted for the fray. Then came dinner of Hannah's
sandwiches, and bacon and eggs cooked over a little friendship fire beyond
the snow.
An hour later they reached the mountain-top, and lo! it was spring again.
The ground was covered with early spring flowers--shooting-stars and
spring beauties and bearded-tongues. In the sheltered nooks they found
dog-toothed violets, and more forget-me-nots--both pink and blue.
It was here that the inexperienced New Englanders longed to camp. They
wanted to wake in the morning, they said, and look far across the blue
distances, over the tops of the highest trees, to the mountains beyond,
like Moses gazing into the Promised Land. But they willingly consented to
ride down on the other side to a more sheltered spot and camp by a tiny
mountain lake, when Malcolm, aided by Donald and Virginia, explained that
a snow-storm was not an unlikely occurrence away up there--even in July!
It was strange to sit around the big camp-fire that night after
supper--all alone in a mountain wilderness; strange to rehearse school
incidents and to listen to Malcolm's stories of hunting for elk and
antelope in that very spot; strangest of all to go to sleep on pine boughs
and blankets which the boys had spread in their tents. The weird, lonesome
cry of the coyotes startled more than one sleeping Vigilante that night,
and Vivian nestled closer beneath Aunt Nan's protecting arm. It was not
until the next morning when they started for home that they knew of the
bear, who, smelling the ham and bacon, had wandered into camp, only to be
repulsed by Malcolm and an extra log on the fire.
In that strange, just-before-dawn stillness Virginia awoke to miss
Priscilla from her side. She moved the tent flap, and looked out.
Priscilla stood by the entrance, her eyes raised to the distant
mountains--great shadows beneath a star-strewn sky. She was learning the
old, old secrets of those mountains at night.
"I couldn't help it, Virginia," she whispered, as she crept back a few
moments later. "I've wanted so to see what it was like at night, and now I
know. It's bigger than ever! I don't believe that any one could look at
the mountains and the stars and ever be doubtful about--God
and--and--things like that, do you?"
* * * * *
The next day, perfect as the one before, they went down, down, down the
trail, through the canyon, across the prairie, and home once more.
"Mr. Hunter named it just right," Priscilla said to Dick, who came to take
the horses. "I've never felt so well-acquainted in my life!"