“I don’t want to meet a silly, old Indian!” Blanche sprang to her feet, slamming the book she had evidently been reading on the table. “Why can’t you let me alone, Ruth Garnier?” she demanded crossly. “I simply won’t stand your tagging me around! Haven’t you spied on me enough?”
For once Ruth’s sorely tried patience slipped its leash. “You have no right to accuse me of any such thing!” she cried out heatedly. “Since you have, just let me tell you this, Blanche, you are acting very foolishly! You’ve been perfectly hateful to me ever since we had that talk. I’ve tried to pass it off, simply to keep the girls from guessing at anything that might make them ask questions I couldn’t answer. I’m sorry you can’t understand that I want to be your friend. I know you believe that I’m only pretending. I’m not, but as long as you will think that, I can’t make you see it differently. It hurts me, naturally, to have you say rude things to me, but it hurts you a good deal more in the eyes of the others. For your own sake, I wish you’d stop it!”
Her color high, Ruth wheeled and marched from the room. Halfway down stairs, she recalled that she had volunteered to escort belligerent Blanche to the living room. She paused, then went bravely back. “I think you had better come down now,” she said coolly, halting in the doorway.
Blanche eyed her for a second, then to Ruth’s intense surprise replied almost civilly, “All right.” Unbeknown to Ruth, she had made an astounding discovery. Ruth Garnier actually had a temper! As she followed the other girl’s fleeing footsteps down the stairs, she felt a certain grudging respect for her that had hitherto been quite absent in her estimation of Ruth’s character. And though neither of them could possibly know it, it was the first milestone along the road to Blanche’s better self.
CHAPTER XIV
THE START
The visit of Blue Wolf marked the beginning of pleasantly exciting days at the Heights. As a caller, he could hardly be classed a social success. The very sight of the bevy of bright-faced girls with their merry ways and eager questions filled him with intense embarrassment. No one but himself was aware of this, however. Outwardly, he preserved a wooden dignity that was admirable to behold. True to Miss Drexal’s prediction, he soon shook the dust of the living room from his restless feet, and strode majestically out of the Heights to be swallowed up in the soft summer darkness.
He appeared again the next morning for breakfast. Afterward, he and Miss Drexal entered into solemn conclave in the living room regarding the details of the proposed trip. It was well toward noon when he took leave of her, entrusted with the funds necessary to secure camping equipment, and to hire horses and a vehicle sufficiently large to accommodate the party on their journey from the town of Tower to the borders of Vermilion Lake, where they were to make camp.
At luncheon that day little else was talked of save the coming excursion into the wilderness. Even Blanche Shirly exerted herself to ask a question or two regarding it.
“Do tell us all about Vermilion Lake, Miss Drexal,” begged Sarah. “I never heard of such a lake until I came up here.”