“You see,” she finished, “it’s just that we aren’t used to seeing persons like that, and he did look fierce, Mr. Hunter. I wish you’d explain to him how it was. I shouldn’t want to be rude even to a hobo.”
Mr. Hunter smiled.
“He’ll understand, Mary,” he said. “In fact, he does already, for when he saw you riding home he told me about how frightened you were at the ford. Don’t be at all alarmed, Vivian,” he called, for Vivian was hurrying into the house, her head high. “He’s a gentleman—underneath the whiskers and the shirt.”
So Mr. Crusoe stayed on at the Hunter ranch. The men liked him—that was plain to be seen. 136 Every evening their laughter echoed from the bunk-house where Mr. Crusoe was entertaining them with his songs and stories. Even the silent William was loud in his praise, and Mr. Weeks, the foreman, in speaking of his ability and readiness to work, suggested a permanent position. Mary allowed but a day to go by before apologizing for her flight from the ford, and after Mr. Crusoe’s courteous acceptance became his firm adherent, much to Vivian’s disgust. Even Aunt Nan found him interesting, while Virginia and Priscilla listened eagerly to his tales of Cripple Creek. They were collecting theme material, they told the disdainful Vivian.
Apparently Mr. Crusoe had stormed and taken the Hunter ranch. Only one member of the family remained his enemy. Vivian was still unconvinced. To her every one else on the ranch had taken his place among the number of those condemned by the apostle, “who, having eyes, see not.” In her suspicious eyes Mr. Crusoe was a “ravening wolf” of whom she should beware. When she had an infrequent occasion to address him she used an offended dignity, tinged with scorn; when his name 137 was brought into the conversation she remained silent, secure in the knowledge that some day they would all see this tramp in his true light!
In three days Vivian had worked herself into a state from the eminence of which she looked down with protecting pity upon Aunt Nan, the other Vigilantes, and Mr. Hunter. They were being hoodwinked, and she alone was left to guard their interests. Harrowing memories of tales she had read, terrifying visions of escaped criminals whom she had witnessed in the “movies,” and who exactly resembled Mr. Crusoe, came to disturb her rest and haunt her dreams. She was a quaking detective, watching Mr. Crusoe’s every act, and discovering treachery and evil design in the most innocent of them.
On the fourth day following Mr. Crusoe’s advent matters approached a climax. In the early afternoon Mr. Hunter, driving to town on business, had taken the other Vigilantes with him. Vivian, with letters to write, had remained at home, feeling safe with Aunt Nan. In her stimulated imagination Mr. Crusoe had been behaving peculiarly all 138 the morning, and not for worlds would she have stayed alone.
Hannah left soon after the others, going for raspberries up the canyon; Aunt Nan, thoughtful and strangely silent, was in the living-room, where within an hour she was joined by Malcolm Keith; Vivian sat beneath the vines in the corner of the porch, and tried to center her attention upon a letter she was writing to Dorothy. She was not eminently successful. Grave apprehensions, strange forebodings, filled her heart. Once Mr. Crusoe passed empty-handed before the porch. He did not see Vivian, although he might easily have detected the beating of her heart. She watched him pause, study for a brief moment the house, its doors and windows, and then pass on. He was seizing the opportunity while they were all away, Vivian told herself, to become better acquainted with his surroundings. Then some day, not far distant, or some night, he——!
She jumped from her seat and ran indoors. At that moment she wanted company more than anything else in the world. Sunny as it was 139 outside, the silence worried her. There was something portentous even in the singing of the August insects. Aunt Nan’s genuine interest in Mr. Crusoe and his welfare would probably prevent Vivian from giving expression to her new-born fears; but at least nearness to some one might quiet the misgivings which were tormenting her.
She reached the living-room door, and stood still, unable to make her presence known, and, for a moment, unable to run away. Aunt Nan and Malcolm Keith were standing by the big western window which faced the prairie and the distant mountains. Malcolm’s arm was around Aunt Nan, and her head was on his shoulder. As Vivian stood transfixed to the spot by a strange Something, Malcolm bent his head, and—Vivian fled, unperceived!