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 96 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 97 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, 98 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. 99 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!