The next morning before daylight Margaret was conscious that someone was stirring in the room next to hers. Becoming more fully awake, she rose, drew on her kimono and slippers and tiptoed to the door which stood open between the bedrooms of the two girls.
In the dim grey light she saw Virginia dressing. She was donning her riding khakis.
“Why, Virg!” Megsy exclaimed in surprise, “where away so early? You aren’t going to ride to the Three Cross Ranch, are you, to tell Babs and Peyton about the invitation?”
“Not this morning, dear. I want to wait until we receive the telegram from Eleanor that I may be more definite in what I have to tell them.”
“Then, where are you going? I might guess the Papago Village, only I know that Winona is not there.”
Virginia smiled brightly. “It’s an odd fancy, this of mine,” she confessed, “but last night I had a dream; one of those wonderfully realistic dreams when you feel sure that you are awake and that the something is actually happening. I dreamed that you and I had ridden over to Hog Canon to see the Wallace family. You know, Megsy, my conscience has troubled me because, after our first visit, I never went again and that was at least three weeks ago. Mrs. Wallace and the children have so little to interest them that even a visit from their neighbors seems like a treat.”
Megsy, seated on the edge of the bed, remarked, “I don’t believe they feel that way about neighbors in general, but just about Virginia Davis in particular.”
The girl, who was lacing her high riding boots, looked up with a smile. “My friends spoil me, don’t they, Megsy. It’s well that I know myself as I am not as they try to picture me. While I’m gone, will you take good care of my brother? I want him to stay in bed all morning, though you may have Sing Long make him some nice broth at ten if you will. However, I expect to be back long before that.”
Virginia had not asked her friend to accompany her and Margaret, though she had thought of requesting to be allowed do so, believed that for some reason Virg wished to be alone, nor was she wrong.
It was still the grey of early dawn when the girl ran down the trail leading to the small pasture where the ponies remained at night. Some of them were lying down and others were tugging at an enclosed haystack which was kept filled with the long desert grass that grew in the valley pasture, a mile from the house. But one among them whinnied as the girl approached and, kicking up frolicsome heels, he cantered to the bars, knowing well that his mistress was about to let them down. And he was right.