THE VIGILANTES HOMESTEAD
"John, do you really think it's safe?"
It was Aunt Nan who asked the question. Mr. Hunter laughed.
"Safe, Nan? They couldn't be safer. There's nothing in the wide world to
hurt them out there on the mesa. They're safer there, in my opinion, than
any place I know, and if they want to know what homesteading is like, why
let them homestead for a night! It won't hurt them a bit. If they go back
to school with a few of Jean MacDonald's ideas, they'll be very
fortunate."
"It seems as though I ought to go," said Aunt Nan, "and still I don't know
that my being there would do any good."
"Not a bit," returned Virginia's father. "Roughing it at seventeen and
thirty are two entirely different experiences. Stay at home and be
civilized, but let them go and don't worry for a moment. They'll show up
to-morrow safe and sound with another bran-new experience for their
Thought Books. See if they don't!"
So it happened that Aunt Nan was convinced and gave her consent to
Virginia's just-born and dearly-beloved plan--namely, that the four
Vigilantes should homestead for Jean MacDonald during her absence of one
night from her cabin on the mesa. Jean had ridden over that morning on her
way to town to spend the night with a friend, and Virginia's plan had
sprung full-born like Athena from the head of Zeus.
"Don't you want us to homestead for you, Jean, while you're away?" she had
asked.
Jean had gladly accepted the offer. "It would be just the thing," she
said. Then they could really see why she loved the mesa as she did, and
especially her very own corner of it. The dogs would be glad of company,
for she had driven the three cows that very morning to the neighboring
homestead, and except for the chickens, Watch and King were all alone. The
cabin door had no lock, and they might go right in and make themselves at
home. There was an extra cot in the kitchen, bedding in plenty, and loads
of food supplies. She would simply love to have them do it!
Virginia had turned questioningly to the listening Vigilantes.
"Let's!" said Mary.
"Oh, do let's!" cried Priscilla.
"Of course," faltered Vivian, insuperably buoyed up by company.
"All right," said Jean MacDonald as she turned Robert Bruce toward the
road. "It's settled then! There's plenty of butter and milk in the
creek-refrigerator--I left them there--and lots of fish in the creek.
You'll have to rustle your own wood, I guess. Help yourselves to
everything! Good-by!"
William, who was working among his flowers, had waited only for Aunt Nan's
approval. Now that it had come, he was off to saddle the horses, while the
excited Vigilantes flew to get into their riding-clothes.
"I'm so glad you dared to suggest it, Virginia," said Priscilla,
struggling with her boot lacings. "I thought of it, too--that's what I
meant by nudging you--but, of course, I wouldn't have liked to propose it.
In the two weeks I've been here, I've had the best time I ever had in my
life, and I really believe this is going to be the best of all."
"I suppose," observed Virginia, "that the boys will be more or less
disappointed because we won't be here to go on the gopher hunt, but we can
shoot dozens of gophers any day."
"Of course," returned Vivian, who had never shot one in her life.
"Of course," echoed Mary, who was in the same class with Vivian.
"Besides," continued Priscilla, "the experience of shooting a gopher,
while doubtless thrilling in the extreme, doesn't compare for one moment
with homesteading. Do you know, girls, I believe I'll take along my
Thought Book. Something might come to me!"
"I would, if I were you," acquiesced Virginia. "No, Hannah, dear," she
added, turning to the faithful retainer in the doorway, "we don't want a
thing to eat. Thank you just as much. It wouldn't be homesteading at all
if we carried food. Jean says there are plenty of supplies out there.
We're just going to take our night-dresses and combs and tooth-brushes and
Priscilla's Thought Book."
Hannah smiled dubiously.
"Supplies is all right, deary," said she, "but who's going to cook them?"
"I can make biscuits, I think," offered Mary. "At least, I did once."
Virginia thought for a moment, uncertain of her contribution.
"I'm sure I can fry fish," she said. "I've seen you do it a hundred times,
Hannah."
Priscilla and Vivian, not being culinary experts, made no promises; but
Virginia, even in the face of discouragement, still insisted that they
take nothing.
"Then don't go till after dinner," called Aunt Nan from her room. "It will
be ready in an hour."
"Better wait," reiterated Mr. Hunter. "William's had to go on the range a
piece for the horses, anyway."
So it was after dinner that the four homesteaders started for their
borrowed claim, leaving behind three disgusted boys armed for a gopher
hunt, an amused father, an interested William, a still doubtful Aunt Nan,
and a much-worried Hannah.
"Can't we even come to call?" asked Carver, holding Vivian's horse for her
to mount.
"No, Carver," said Virginia sweetly, "you can't. We want to see how it
will really seem to be homesteading all alone. We'll be back by noon
to-morrow, and will go after gophers in the afternoon, if you want to
wait. If you don't, it's all right."
"Why not invite us to supper?" suggested Donald. "We'll go directly
afterward, and won't come too early."
"I should say not," cried Priscilla, much to Hannah's amusement as they
galloped away. "Supper is to be an experiment for us, and we don't want
any guests."
They rode south through the hills to Elk Creek Valley, where the pink and
blue of the blossoms were fading a little in the August sun. It would be
a golden Valley soon, Virginia said--yellow with sunflowers and
golden-rod. Then they climbed the foot-hills to the mesa, and rode eagerly
toward their newly-acquired cabin in the southwest corner.
"I feel exactly like the owner," confided Virginia, urging Pedro forward
toward their goal. "I'm wondering if anything has happened since my trip
to town."
Apparently nothing had happened. The cabin was slumbering peacefully in
the August sunshine. Watch and King, however, were wide awake. They came
bounding around the corner of the house, ready to guard their mistress'
property from all intruders. But in their superior dog wisdom they soon
remembered that these young ladies were the friends who a few days before
had made their mistress happy, and they gave the Vigilantes a royal
welcome--both for Jean and for themselves.
Virginia considered matters for a moment before dismounting.
"I think I'll leave Pedro's bridle on," she said. "Then he won't stray
far, and the others will keep near him. We'll unsaddle and put the things
on the porch. Then that will be done. It's three o'clock now," she
continued, consulting her watch, "and I don't think it would be a bad plan
to get settled and consider supper, do you?"
No, they did not, they told her, as they dismounted. Virginia, with Pedro
unsaddled and eager to feed, proudly watched Vivian as she tugged at
Siwash's saddle-straps, and took off his bridle. It was some time since
Vivian had asked assistance. Her heart might be beating fearfully
inside--it probably was--when Siwash shook his head impatiently and
stamped a foot; but only an instinctive backward movement proved that the
fear was still there.
"Vivian's making new roots every day," Virginia said to herself, "and deep
ones, too." And she smiled encouragingly into Vivian's blue eyes, as, the
horses freed, they carried the saddles, blankets, and bridles to the
porch.
Jean MacDonald was right. The cabin door would not lock. Three Vigilantes
looked somewhat askance at one another when this fact was made known,
though the fourth seemed not to consider it at all. The cot in the kitchen
was examined and pronounced comfortable.
"At least as comfortable as one would wish, homesteading for one night,"
said Priscilla.
Lots were drawn for beds and companions. Vivian and Virginia, it was thus
decided, should sleep in the living-room, and Priscilla and Mary in the
kitchen.
"Of course, we could move the kitchen cot into the living-room," said
Virginia, "but it really isn't worth the trouble where the door is so
small. Besides, you girls don't feel the least bit frightened about
sleeping out there, anyway."
Mary looked at Priscilla and Priscilla looked at Mary. Not for veritable
worlds would they have confided to Virginia the joy which would fill their
hearts if that refractory kitchen cot could be moved into the living-room;
not for untold riches would they have confessed the sinking feeling which
attacked them upon the thought of sleeping in the kitchen nearest that
unlocked door. A bear might push open that door, or a mountain lion roar
outside their window--they would be game to the end!
"Now," announced Virginia, quite unconscious of the sensations which were
agitating her friends, "I think we'd best begin to get supper. It may take
some time. Mary, I see there's a cook book in the kitchen. If you've made
biscuits only once, it might be well for you to study up a little. Vivian
can set the table, and get some lettuce from the garden. I'll rustle the
wood for the fire, and get the potatoes ready. Hannah told me to bake them
about an hour. Priscilla, why don't you take one of Jean's rods and follow
up the creek? There are some quaking-asps in a shady place up a little
way, and it wouldn't surprise me at all if you got a trout there. Use some
of those little dark flies--they're good this kind of a day. Come to think
of it, Jean has some already on. You might add a grasshopper or two.
There'll be plenty of them hopping around. Pinch their noses and they'll
keep still."
Priscilla, armed with Virginia's directions, and a total lack of
experience, took the rod and went her way. Never in her life had she
caught a fish, but the zest of a possible catch seized her. If she could
only get one, it would be something more to tell Alden, and might elicit
praise as high as the bear-trapping experience had done. She saw the
quaking-asps some rods above the cabin, crawled under the wire fence, and
went toward them. Something hopped out of her way. A grasshopper! She
jumped, but missed him! Personally she did not care for the _feel_ of
grasshoppers, and their kindred of crawly things, but if she would
accomplish her purpose, she must procure one. She dropped on her knees,
and began her search. There were grasshoppers in plenty, but they were of
a very swift variety. Priscilla darted and dove on this side and that
before she finally caught her prey. With loathing and disgust she
proceeded to pinch his nose and render him helpless. She placed him
awkwardly and none too securely on the hook beneath the little black fly,
strode to the quaking-asps, disentangled her rod and line a dozen times,
and at length managed to drop the baited hook into the creek. Then she
straightened her weary form, grasped her rod firmly in her right hand and
waited. The question was--should she do anything more than wait? Were
one's chances of success greater if she wiggled the rod? Should one just
stand still or walk back and forth, dragging the line after her?
If the trout in the dark pool under the shadow of the quaking-asps had
seen the performance that preceded the appearance of that fly and
grasshopper, he never would have deigned to approach them. But his late
afternoon nap had fortunately prevented, and now supper was before his
very eyes. He darted for the grasshopper and securely seized it.
Priscilla, standing motionless upon the bank, felt a tremor go through the
rod in her hand, saw the tip bend, felt a frightful tug as the fish darted
downstream. Something told her that her dream was realized--that she had
at least _hooked_ a fish!
Had the fish in question been less greedy, he would have assuredly made
his escape. Priscilla knew nothing of the rules of angling. She only knew
that she should never recover from chagrin and shame if that fish eluded
her. She dropped the rod, grasped the line tightly in both hands, slid
down the bank, stood in the creek to her boot-tops, and pulled with all
her might. The trout, hindered by surprise as well as greediness,
surrendered, and Priscilla with trembling hands and glowing eyes drew him
to shore.
It never occurred to her to take him from the hook. Her one thought was to
notify the Vigilantes of her success. Holding the line in one hand, just
above the flapping, defeated trout, and grasping the rod in the other, she
ran with all her might to the cabin, burst in the door, and exhibited her
fish and her dripping, triumphant self to the Vigilantes. Fears of
unlocked doors had fled! It was still light, and she was a conqueror!
Supper that night, in spite of Hannah's fears, was an unqualified success.
Memory and the cook-book had sufficed to make very creditable biscuits,
the trout, rather demolished by vigorous cleaning, lay, brown and
sizzling, in a nest of fresh lettuce leaves, and the potatoes were
perfect.
"Isn't it fun?" cried Virginia, as they ate the last crumb. "It's better
even than I thought."
"It's lovely," said Vivian, "only I feel just the same way that I did
about staying all alone as Jean does. Look outside, Virginia. It's getting
dark already!"
"Yes," answered Virginia, going to the window, "it does in August, though
the twilights stay like this a long time. See, there's a star! Doesn't it
twinkle? You can actually see the points! Let's wish on it. I wish--let me
see--I wish for the loveliest year at St. Helen's we could possibly
have--a year we'll remember all our lives!"
"I wish," said Mary, "that college may be just as lovely, and that I'll
make as good new friends as you all are."
"I wish," said Priscilla thoughtfully, "I wish I may be just as good a
Senior Monitor as you were, Mary."
"I'm not going to tell my wish," said Vivian softly. "It's--it's too much
about me."
Dishes were washed and dogs and chickens fed. Then they came out-of-doors
in the ever-deepening stillness to watch the moon rise over the blue
shadowy mountains, and look down upon the mesa, upon the horses feeding
some rods away among the sagebrush, and upon them as they stood together
a little distance from the cabin.
"Isn't it still?" whispered Vivian, holding Virginia's hand. "You can just
hear the silence in your ears. I believe it's louder than the creek!"
"I love it!" said Mary, unlocked doors all forgotten in a blessed,
all-together feeling. "See the stars come out one by one. You can almost
see them opening the doors of Heaven before they look through. I never saw
so many in all my life. And isn't the sky blue? It's never that way at
home!"
"I can understand better than ever, Virginia," said Priscilla, "how you
used to feel at school when we would open the French doors and go out on
the porch. You said it wasn't satisfying someway. I thought I understood
on the getting-acquainted trip, but now I know better than ever."
"It makes you feel like whispering, doesn't it?" Vivian whispered again.
"It's all so big and we're so little. But it doesn't scare me so much
now."
"I've been thinking," said Virginia softly, "of Matthew Arnold's poem--the
one on _Self-Dependence_, you know, Vivian, which we had in class, and
which Miss Wallace likes so much. Of course, he was on the sea when he
thought of it, but so are we--on a prairie sea--and I'm sure the stars
were never brighter, even there. I learned it because I think it expresses
the way one feels out here. I used to feel little, too, Vivian, but I
don't any more. I feel just as though some strange thing inside of me were
trying to reach the stars. It's just as though all the little things that
have bothered you were gone away--just as though you were ready to learn
_real_ things from the stars and the silence and the mountains--learn how
to be like them, I mean. You know what he said in the poem, Vivian--the
stanza about the stars--the one Miss Wallace loves the best:
'Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
These demand not that the things without them
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.'"
Vivian sighed--a long, deep sigh that somehow drew them closer together.
"I don't believe I'll ever be like that," she said. "I'm afraid I'll
always want sympathy and--love!"
"But it doesn't mean that, Vivian," explained Virginia. "I'm sure it
doesn't. Of course, we all want those things--more than anything else in
the world. But I think it means just as Miss Wallace said, that instead of
demanding them we're to live so--so nobly that they will come to
us--unsought, you know. Doesn't that make it a little easier, don't you
think?"
The August night grew cold, and soon they went indoors to a friendship
fire in the stone fire-place. They watched the flames roar up the chimney,
then crackle cheerily, and at last flicker away to little blue tongues,
which died almost as soon as they were born. There was no other light in
the cabin. Virginia had said that none was needed, and she did not notice
the apprehensive glances which the other Vigilantes cast around the
shadowy, half-lit room. At last Vivian yawned.
"Nine o'clock," said Virginia. "Bed-time! I guess we can see to undress by
moonlight, can't we?"
"What shall we do about the door?" asked Mary hesitatingly. "It won't
lock, you know."
"That won't matter," said Virginia carelessly, while she covered the
fire-brands with ashes. "There's no one in the world around. Besides,
Watch and King will take care of things. You don't feel afraid, do you?"
"Oh, no!" announced Priscilla, trying her best to ape Virginia's careless
manner, and determined to _act_ like a good sport at least.
"Oh, no!" echoed Mary faintly.
Vivian was unspeakably glad that her lot had fallen with Virginia, and
that their bed was in the farther corner of the living-room.
"I wish Dorothy were here!" Virginia called fifteen minutes later to the
brave souls on the kitchen cot. "Then 'twould be perfectly perfect.
Good-night, everybody. Sweet dreams!"
"Sweet dreams!" whispered Priscilla to Mary, while she clutched Mary's
hand. "I don't expect to have a dream to-night! Mary, don't go to sleep
before I do! We'll have to manage it somehow! I'll die if you do!"
"I won't," promised Mary.
But they were tired from excitement, and sleep came in spite of unlocked
doors. A half hour passed and every homesteader was sleeping soundly. The
night wore on, midnight passed, and the still, stiller hours of the early
morning came. It was yet dark when Mary was rudely awakened by her
roommate kicking her with all her might. She sat up in bed, dazed,
frightened. Priscilla was clinging to her.
"Oh, Mary!" she breathed. "Listen! There are footsteps outside our window!
There are, I tell you! Listen!"
Mary listened. Her heart was in her mouth and choking her. Yes, there were
unmistakably footsteps outside. As they listened, the sound of breathing
became apparent.
"It _isn't_ our breathing, Mary," Priscilla whispered. "I tell you it
_isn't!_ It's--oh, the steps are coming nearer! They're on the path! Oh,
Virginia! V-i-r-g-i-n-i-a! V-I-R-G-I-N-I-A!!"
The last word ended in a mighty shout, which awoke Virginia and the
terrified Vivian. Before the shout was fairly completed, the cot in the
living-room was groaning beneath an added weight, and Virginia, striving
to rise, was encumbered by three pair of arms.
"Let me go, girls!" she cried. "Let me go, I tell you! No one's coming
into this cabin unless I say so! Remember that!"
By this time the steps were on the porch. Virginia, finally free from
embraces and on her feet, reached for Jean MacDonald's gun, and started
for the door, which she was just too late to open. Instead, the visitor
from without pushed it open, and the terrified Vigilantes on the bed,
hearing Virginia laugh, raised their frightened heads from the pillows to
meet the astonished gaze of poor old Siwash!
"Don't ever let the boys know," warned Virginia, as she returned from
escorting Siwash to the gate and out upon the mesa. "We'll never hear the
last of it if you do. 'Twas our own fault. We didn't close the gate,
that's all, and Siwash has always loved company!"
So the boys never knew, though they wondered not a little at the
significant and secret glances which the Vigilantes exchanged upon their
arrival home the next morning, and at intervals during the days that
followed whenever homesteading became the topic of conversation. Once Aunt
Nan, to whom also the secret was denied, attempted to probe the mystery,
choosing Vivian as the most likely source of information.
"Did you really have a splendid time, Vivian?" she asked.
"We certainly did, Aunt Nan," answered the loyal Vivian. "I never had a
better time in all my life. Only one night of homesteading is enough for
me. There are lots of things I envy Jean MacDonald, but homesteading isn't
one of them!"