Virginia of Elk Creek Valley

by Mary Ellen Chase

Meanwhile the three on the summit across the valley had dined, frugally to be sure, and somewhat silently on bread and bacon. Now sweater-clad they sat before the fire, and munched at some sweet chocolate which Carver had discovered in his coat pocket. With every nibble Vivian peered among the trees behind her, glanced fearfully right and left, and ended by gazing with longing eyes at the fire on Sagebrush Point. Carver hugged his knees, and rocked idly to and fro. Virginia gazed thoughtfully into the flames. To her a night in a mountain forest was a privilege, whether three 171 or nine shared its glories. To be sure, a tent would be a distinct addition, but since they had none they must do without it. Its absence was but an incident, and gave her little anxiety—far less, in fact, than the fear which she detected in the blue eyes of Vivian. For to Vivian the approaching night was a terrible ordeal through which she must go. Her reason fled away to parts unknown, and only imagination remained to create a mountain lion in every thicket, and mysterious, unearthly, disembodied presences in the air, behind her back, at her very elbow. She was grateful when Carver came to sit beside her. With Virginia on the other side, two less avenues of approach were opened. At all events she would not talk about her fear; and, acting upon her resolve, she did her best to join in the conversation on school and books and athletics.

Ten o’clock came, and Carver brought wood for the fire. Then he unrolled their blankets, spreading them over pine boughs already cut and placed upon the ground. The ground itself was a good enough mattress for him, he said, as he 172 rolled in his blanket Indian-fashion, and lay down under a great pine. They need have no anxiety as to the fire. He probably should sleep but little, and would replenish it whenever wood was needed. If they wanted a thing or became frightened in the night, they should speak to him.

Vivian, sleepy in spite of her fears, lay down upon the boughs, her head in Virginia’s lap. She knew she should not close her eyes, but she might as well rest. If a bear or a mountain lion came, it would make little difference whether she were sitting or reclining. Virginia was not sleepy. She preferred to sit up.

In half an hour a long, resigned snore from the neighborhood of the great pine proved that Carver Standish had forgotten all about fires and protection. Virginia smiled to herself as she reached for more wood. There was bacon in camp and undoubtedly bears on the mountain. The combination made a big fire desirable. Moreover, she was determined that the Sagebrush Point fire, replenished from time to time by a black dot, should not eclipse her own. 173

“Sit up a minute, Vivian,” she whispered, trying to rise. “I want to get one of those big logs which I can’t reach from here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

But when she returned with the log, Vivian’s head had dropped upon the blankets, and the flames which leaped up a moment later showed her, to Virginia’s joy, to be fast asleep.

So the founder of the Vigilantes was the only one left to guard the fortunes of the camp. She took her station near the edge of the slope, a little distance from the fire, drew her blanket close around her, and began her vigil. There was so much to see and to think about! She was glad she felt wide-awake.

Deep in the gorge below her, the river called with a thousand voices. Down in the valley the pine trees reared their heads—little spear points pricking the purple blackness of the night. The fire on Sagebrush sparkled like a single jewel in a vast setting. Far above and beyond the valley rose the opposite height, dark and indistinct—a bridge between two worlds. To Virginia she was like an eagle, secure 174 in his nest on the topmost pinnacle of a cliff, and looking forth upon his domain.

Now she turned her face upward toward the deep, almost transparent blue of the midnight sky. It was set with myriads of stars—great arc-lights, beacons at sea, flickering candle-flames. A star fell—it was one of the beacons—and came earthward, trailing glory in its wake. Then, the path blazed, another followed, and a third. The last was a little candle-flame, almost too tiny to find its way alone. The Milky Way was a great, golden trail across the sky. If souls traversed it on their way to the Great Throne, as she had believed when she was a little girl, they would have no difficulty to-night in finding their way. She traced its triumphant course across the heavens. It seemed to begin on earth, she thought to herself, and come back to earth again after its journey skyward. That might break in pieces her childhood dream. But perhaps there were Great Thrones on earth, too, if one only searched far enough. Who knew that there were not?

After all, Life was a search. She was beginning to realize that more every day. It meant a 175 seeking after the best things. What were those best things, she wondered? Had she discovered the trail which, like the Milky Way, led to them? Friendship was one, she concluded—the real friendship which never demanded more than it was willing to give. And Service was another—the desire to help people over the hard, rocky places—to be a comrade, not just a spectator. Dorothy had discovered that. Then the Love of Beautiful Things must surely be a third—the love of books and pictures and of all the wonderful treasures of the out-of-doors. These were not all. There were others to be found far ahead, Virginia knew—treasures more wonderful than any yet discovered—if one searched and were worthy of finding them.