Part 11 (1/2)

Fifteen minutes later, still unperceived and to all appearances quite forgotten, she sat in her chair and watched Aunt Nan and Malcolm go down the lane beneath the cottonwoods, and on toward the foot-hills. They had forgotten her very existence. She was all alone--alone with Mr. Crusoe and the silence. At that very instant Mr. Crusoe again pa.s.sed before the porch--again paused to study the house. This time he held a key in his hand--a large key on a string which he twisted and untwisted as it swung from his big, brown finger. Vivian knew that key. It belonged to the root-cellar just beyond the kitchen, and it hung in Mr. Hunter's office above his desk. She had seen Hannah take it a dozen times, and once Mr.

Hunter had given it to Virginia, asking her to get some papers from a desk he kept down there. Why should Mr. Crusoe want to go to the root-cellar?

Something told Vivian that the time for her to act had come; that only she could save the Hunter fortunes from oncoming disaster. As Mr. Crusoe rounded the farther corner of the porch, and started in the direction of the root-cellar, Vivian ran through the house and into Hannah's spotless kitchen. A new sense of responsibility gave birth to a bran-new sense of courage. Vivian, watching from the kitchen window, saw Mr. Crusoe go into the cellar. That was enough.

Running to Virginia's room, she grasped the little rifle which stood in the corner. It was the only gun in the house which Vivian had ever used, and her one experience with it had not given her a far-reaching knowledge of fire-arms. Still, it was a gun, and guns concealed cowardice, and lent power and dignity to one's bearing. Vivian knew that it was loaded.

Virginia always kept it ready in case a gopher poked his inquisitive little nose above the ground. She knew, too, that a quick push of her thumb would drive back the safety and leave the gun ready to shoot.

She ran down the hall and out the back door toward the root cellar. Her heart was in her mouth, her breath came in gasps, her wide-open blue eyes were filled with terror. When she reached the stone steps leading down to the cellar she looked far less a heroine than a much frightened little girl. Still, there was the gun! Vivian's nervous fingers kept pus.h.i.+ng the safety on and off--a rather terrifying sound to the ears of a much surprised man, who, papers in hand, was coming up the steps.

Vivian saw the papers. She was right! Mr. Crusoe had been rifling Mr.

Hunter's private possessions. She raised the gun with a trembling hand.

”Mr. Crusoe,” she faltered, ”this gun is loaded, and if you try to pa.s.s me, I--I'm very sure I shall shoot you. You sit down there in the cellar and wait for Mr. Hunter.”

Mr. Crusoe sat down. He was too surprised to do anything else. He had faced guns many times before in his varied existence, but never had he been confronted by a shaking .22 in the trembling hands of a very nervous young lady. Moreover, the sound of a safety clicking nervously back and forth is not conducive to peace. Mr. Crusoe did not expect Vivian to shoot him, but he did entertain a fear that the gun might go off in his direction and in spite of her. Considering silence the better part of valor, he accordingly sought the farthest corner of the cellar and hoped for the best.

Vivian sat upon the top step, the gun upon her knees. She had not looked for such non-resistance on the part of Mr. Crusoe. Indeed, he looked less fierce than she had ever seen him. Could she have observed the amused smile which was quivering beneath Mr. Crusoe's black whiskers as he began more fully to understand this peculiar situation, she would have been much puzzled. To her, he was a cringing suppliant, and she a distinct conqueror.

Still the minutes dragged themselves very slowly away. It seemed two hours, though it was in reality but ten minutes before conqueror and conquered heard the roll of returning wheels, the sound of voices calling for Vivian, the approach of hurrying footsteps. Mr. Crusoe stirred uneasily. He would have willingly saved Vivian from the embarra.s.sment which he knew was bound to follow, but it had been impossible. Vivian's heart beat wildly. Now, at least, they would understand that she had been right all along; now, perhaps, they would no longer think her such a coward!

Embarra.s.sment did follow! Embarra.s.sment and tears and explanations and not a little ill-concealed amus.e.m.e.nt. For one long hour Vivian, in spite of sympathy and understanding and genuine admiration, wished she had never been born. In that hour she discovered that a finer courage is necessary to admit a mistake and to begin anew than to besiege a hobo in a root-cellar. But she proved equal to the task, and Mr. Crusoe in the part he played showed himself the gentleman he really was. For when Vivian was convinced that Mr. Crusoe had been given the key by Mr. Hunter, that he had been told to fetch the papers, and that he really was trustworthy after all, she dried her tears, donned a fresh middy, and went quite alone to offer her apologies.

She found Mr. Crusoe by the bunk-house. He had shaved in the meantime, and when Vivian saw his clean firm chin, she knew it was partly the whiskers which had made her level the gun at him.

”I'm sorry, Mr. Crusoe,” she stammered. ”You see, I thought you were just a tramp, and at home we are always afraid of them. But I know now you aren't. I know I've been wrong all the time, and--oh, I'm awfully glad the gun didn't go off!”

Mr. Crusoe removed his battered old hat and offered his freshly-washed hand.

”I'm glad, too, Miss Vivian,” he said. ”If it had, perhaps I couldn't have told you how much pluck I think you've got stored away inside of you. And as for your being suspicious of the likes o' me, I don't wonder a mite.

Only, you see, there are tramps and tramps. To the best of us, I guess trampin' just means followin' roads that lead to shelters--to _homes_, you see! And now you know I'm not the kind you thought I was, this here ranch looks like a mighty good home to me.”

”Then you won't go back to Cripple Creek?” asked Vivian. ”If I were you I'd stay right here.”

”That's what I'm plannin' on,” said Mr. Crusoe.

CHAPTER X

A LETTER FROM DOROTHY

”It seems an age, doesn't it, since we've had a real meeting,” said the founder of the Vigilantes, ”and yet it's only nine weeks ago this very identical day. I guess it's because the places are so far apart and so different. The last time 'twas on the big rock back of the Retreat, and now it's away out here in the Land of our Dreams. Oh, you'll never, never know what it's meaning to me to have you all out here, because it's one of the things you feel inside but can never, never tell!”

”I guess we know,” cried Priscilla, ”because we're feeling it, too! Every day I think I'll die if I get any happier, but I guess happiness is one of the things you can keep pouring into your heart like love--without its overflowing.”

”It's the very same way about pouring it out, too,” said Mary. ”There's always plenty left like the oil in the Bible story.”

”Aren't the mountains way off there blue?” cried Vivian. ”I think blue's the happiest color in the world. I'll never say that I feel _blue_ again now that I've seen the mountains.”

They had climbed to the summit of Spruce Ridge for their Vigilante meeting--the first formal one they had held since their arrival in Virginia's country. A letter from Dorothy, coming an hour ago, bore the inscription, ”To be read at a Vigilante meeting,” and in order to be honest to the letter, as well as in spirit, they had decided upon a place apart and a.s.sembled.

”After all, it's better to come away like this, isn't it?” asked Virginia.