“Camp—here—Virginia! Alone! Here! In—this—wilderness!” Vivian was monosyllabic from terror.
Carver did not share Vivian’s fear, but he was a trifle overbearing in his judgment of those about the fire at Sagebrush Point.
“If Donald thought we weren’t going to make it, 168 why didn’t he camp here himself?” he asked. “Of course it’s all right for me, but it’s rather tough on you and Vivian. I should think he’d have thought of that.”
Virginia was quick to champion Donald. Indeed Carver Standish III would have given much for the place Donald held in Virginia’s estimation.
“Why, Carver,” she said, frank in her displeasure, “Donald’s one of the most thoughtful persons in the world. Malcolm and Aunt Nan were over at Sagebrush, and he couldn’t get word to them before dark. Besides, he knows I’m not afraid to camp by ourselves. They’re right across on Sagebrush, and there’s nothing in this world to harm us. Of course he wouldn’t have gone on for anything if you hadn’t been here, but he knew he could depend on you.”
The knowledge of New England ancestry could not keep Carver Standish from feeling small as he unsaddled the horses, and tied them in among the trees. Then, considering work a good antidote, he cut brush and brought dry sticks for a fire. A dead cedar promised logs enough for the night, and these 169 Carver cut, trimmed, and piled. Vivian, unable as yet to comprehend the situation, stood looking off toward the fire on the point, and wished with all her heart that she had wings. Virginia unstrapped the blankets and laid them upon a fallen log. Then, the big revolver in her hand, she waited only for the fire to give those watching on Sagebrush the signals agreed upon. At last the flame-colored smoke burst into tongues of fire, leaping, crackling tongues which told the anxious watchers on Sagebrush that the note had been found and that all was well. A moment later three shots from the mountain opposite tore away the stillness. Donald sent back an answering three. Then five in quick succession came from Virginia’s revolver.
“It’s the old signal we’ve always used in hunting,” Donald explained to Mary, Priscilla, and Jack who were standing beside him. “It means, ‘We’re going to camp here.’ I knew Virginia would decide on that. She always does the sensible thing anyway,” he added proudly.
Malcolm and Aunt Nan, standing near the 170 water’s edge, watched the flames of Virginia’s fire as they blazed skyward.
“I’ve never quite realized before what Virginia’s made of,” said Aunt Nan thoughtfully. “If her Grandmother Webster were here this minute, I think perhaps she’d realize that there are qualities which balance being born in New England.”
“Perhaps,” returned Malcolm, a little doubtfully. “Perhaps she would. I’ve known New Englanders to realize several things. The trouble is they’re very much averse to admitting it.”