Part 4 (1/2)
Robert Bruce was quite willing to be patient. There was nourishment in plenty between the sagebrush clumps, and he wandered at will, his dragging reins giving sure proof that he would not stray too far.
Meanwhile, his mistress continued her singing and her work. She proudly dusted her new furniture in the room which served as chamber and parlor, rearranged her few books in their wall bookcase, swept up the ashes of her last evening's fire, and brought wood to lay another. Then she turned her attention to the room which was kitchen and dining-room in one. From a neat chest of drawers she drew her best and only white table-cloth and spread it on the table. The table was a little rickety in one leg, but several folds of newspaper acted as a splendid prop, and quite removed the difficulty. Her supply of china and silver was scarce, but it would do with was.h.i.+ng between courses. Four chairs were all she had, but they were quite enough as her guests numbered four. An empty soap-box concealed beneath the table-cloth, and drawn out only when necessary, would do for her.
In fifteen minutes everything was in readiness, even to five early nasturtiums in a tumbler on the dining-table. They had made a special effort to open that morning, and the homesteader was grateful. She paused on her way to the creek-refrigerator to look in the sitting-room mirror.
These guests were her very first, and she wanted to appear at her best.
Yes, her khaki blouse and skirt were clean and her hair fairly tidy. Her new red tie, she told herself, was quite decidedly jaunty. She blessed that tie, for had it not been for Donald Keith's kindness in bringing the package to her from the town post-office four days ago, she would neither have known about the girls, nor have had the opportunity of inviting them to come to see her. Of course, they were from the East--all except Virginia Hunter, of whom she had heard so much, and she was a Wyoming homesteader; but, she told herself, that need make no difference. In fact, it made everything much more interesting, for she could learn many things from them, and perhaps--perhaps, they might learn a little bit from her.
Still singing, she hurried to the end of the porch, and looked toward the north. Four specks were distinctly visible on the edge of the mesa. Even as she looked they became larger. They were horses coming toward her cabin, and they bore her guests. She whistled loudly to Robert Bruce, who obediently ceased his browsing and came toward her. A quick run to the creek-refrigerator to see that her b.u.t.ter and cream were safe in the clear, cold water, and then back to Robert; a leap into the saddle and she was off to meet her guests.
Introductions are stilted, unlovely things between horseback riders on a sagebrush-covered mesa under a blue August sky. There were none this morning. Jean MacDonald reined in the restive Robert Bruce as she drew near her guests, and unceremoniously greeted them all.
”I know every one of you,” she said brightly, her dark blue eyes searching their faces--”Mary Williams and Priscilla Winthrop and Vivian Winters--all of you. And I've known you even longer, Virginia. Donald Keith told me all about you a month ago when they helped break my land. I'm so glad you're coming to spend the day with me. You're the very first guests I've ever had on my homestead!”
They were glad, too, they told her, liking her at once, and feeling perfectly at ease. She rode beside Virginia, talking of Donald, the other Keiths who had been so good to her, and her neighbors in the southeast corner of the mesa. Virginia, too, talked freely, asking questions, telling of their recent bear hunt, joining in Jean's admiration of the Keiths. To the three New Englanders, who rode a little behind them, this new comrades.h.i.+p, though a little startling to their inherent conservatism, was interesting in the extreme. It seemed to be born of a land too big for ceremonies, too frank and open for formalities; and soon they found themselves urging their horses up to Pedro and Robert Bruce, so that they too might enter the widening circle of fellows.h.i.+p.
All four Vigilantes found themselves studying the face of this girl who so often turned toward one and another with a question or a reply. It was a face too tanned and too large-featured to be beautiful or even pretty; but the lines about the nose and mouth were firm and strong, the eyes were wide-open and fearless, and the head was set most independently upon a pair of broad, straight shoulders. There was something about the girl like the mesa--fearless, big, wholesome. It showed itself in the way she managed her horse, in her hearty manner of laughing with her head thrown back, and in the calm, sure, straightforward expression of her dark blue eyes.
”She'd make the finest kind of a friend, I'm sure of that,” said Mary to herself, and then to Priscilla and Vivian, as they dropped behind for a moment just before reaching the little cabin.
”Yes,” agreed Priscilla, ”she surely would. I wonder what there is about her that makes a person feel small. I've been feeling positively microscopic ever since she rode up to us.”
”I'm glad you have,” sighed Vivian, thankful that another shared her sensation. ”So have I. I feel about as big as a field-mouse, and I think I know why. You just know a girl like her would never fall off a horse, or run away from a gun, or--do anything babyish like that. And just imagine daring to live all alone in a little cabin like this! I'd die! I know I should!”
But the small feeling was forgotten in the good time which followed.
Robert Bruce, unspeakably glad of company, escorted his four guests to choice bits of gra.s.s in among the sagebrush; the two collies barked in welcome; and the girls, loaded with saddles and bridles, went in through the gate toward the cabin. Jean MacDonald, proud and happy, led the way into the house and the interested Vigilantes followed. They had never supposed a log house could be so attractive within; but the neat dark furniture, the couch with its brown cover, the stone fire-place, and the books and pictures made the little cabin one of the most homelike places they had ever seen. A mountain sheep looked down upon them from above the fire-place. Jean had shot him the winter before in Montana, she told them.
In the corner by the cot stood her guns--one large, double-barreled Winchester, a shot-gun, and a small rifle. Above them on the logs rested her fis.h.i.+ng-rods.
It was all so new and interesting to three pair of fascinated eyes. They asked question after question and explored every nook and corner of the cabin and its surroundings--the kitchen with its s.h.i.+ning stove, singing tea-kettle, and white-covered table, the pantry, the root-cellar and chicken-house, and last of all the creek-refrigerator.
”It's all right in the daytime,” announced Vivian, as they sat on the porch before beginning to get dinner, ”but I don't see how you stand it all alone at night.” She paused. ”I'd die!” she finished simply.
Jean MacDonald did not laugh, though she felt like it at first, for she saw that Vivian was very much in earnest.
”I think I know how you feel, Vivian,” she said kindly. ”I know you would be very lonely, because, you see, you've always lived in a city or at school where there have been folks all about you. But, you see, it's different with me. I was born on a homestead in Montana, and I'm used to endless tracts of land without neighbors. I guess I've made better friends with the mountains than you've been able to yet, and with the silence which I know some people fear. You see, I've never been afraid in all my life, so I don't mind the loneliness.”
Vivian was staring at her, incredulous.
”Never--been--afraid--of--anything?” she repeated questioningly.
”Honestly, haven't you--all your life?”
Jean MacDonald considered for a moment.
”No,” she said, ”honestly, I don't believe I ever have. I was brought up never to fear the dark or the silence or being alone or--anything like that. Those are the most awful things, I guess, to persons who are afraid.
And as for wild animals or people who would do harm (and there aren't many of those in the world) why, you see”--she raised her head and her eyes flashed--”you see, I can take care of myself! I'm thankful,” she added, ”that I'm not afraid of things. I think fear must be a terrible thing!”
Vivian's blue eyes filled with sudden tears.