This also was characteristic of Peggy Webster. Most girls would not have been willing to be so straightforward in expressing an interest. But really it did not occur to Peggy that she should not state her liking for Howard Brent as freely as if he had been a girl; and, of course, there was no reason why she should not.
However, Ralph felt slightly annoyed. He was accustomed to being both admired and flattered by his girl acquaintances. Even Bettina Graham’s dislike of him was more agreeable than Peggy’s good-natured indifference.
Moreover, Peggy’s expression had at this instant changed, as she went quickly forward to greet the two young men who were advancing toward them.
“It is awfully good luck to have you so near our camp again; I hope you will both come over to see us,” Ralph heard her say the moment after she had shaken hands with the newcomers. She had not suggested a visit to him.
Howard Brent and Terry Benton in a lesser degree were types of men whom Peggy might have been expected to admire.
Howard Brent was the son of an Arizona ranchman and was himself one. He was a big, strong, fearless fellow of about twenty; having spent most of his life outdoors, he was nearly as dark in appearance as Peggy herself and almost as straightforward. Terry, of course, was an Irishman and, although he also lived outdoors, he had the Irish subtleties and the ability to laugh at himself, which Peggy could not at this time of her life understand.
A short time after, while the little group of four were continuing to talk, Dan Webster came out from the hotel. Ralph Marshall introduced him to his two friends and straightway they fell into a discussion of future plans.
Dan was younger than the other men and had never been west before. But he had spent his life in the New Hampshire woods and was devoted to outdoor sports. Moreover, he was tremendously grateful and enthusiastic over the suggestion of his two new acquaintances, that he join them in the hunting and tramping expeditions which they were then planning.
He knew Ralph Marshall, of course, and they were friendly enough, but had no particular liking for each other.
“You are not going to join in these strenuous enterprises, are you, Ralph?” Peggy asked as she and Dan were about to climb back into their wagon to return to their own camp.
“Why not?” Ralph demanded, flushing a little, not so much from Peggy’s tone, which had been nothing but friendly, but from the attitude which he suspected in the other three men.
“Oh, for no reason at all,” Peggy returned quickly, “only that I thought you liked other amusements better. You know I don’t think a great deal of trying to destroy things, although so long as I like to eat what Dan kills I suppose I can’t criticise his hunting.”
In her first speech Peggy had had no idea of hurting Ralph’s feelings, or even his self-esteem, which is what people are apt to hurt in us. Therefore, appreciating the fact that he seemed a little uncomfortable, she had attempted to change the subject. Moreover, in saying good-bye she gave her hand last to Ralph, looking at him with an appeal for forgiveness for her unconscious awkwardness. Under the circumstances she found it impossible to apologise openly.
Ralph Marshall had not Peggy’s generosity of nature. He said good-bye with perfect politeness, but the girl still felt that he was chagrined.
“Bully girl, isn’t she? As good a sport I should think as the best kind of a fellow!” Howard Brent exclaimed after Dan and Peggy had driven off.
For a moment Terry Benton whistled softly before replying. Then, being an Irishman, he was a little enigmatic.
“They are made differently, aren’t they, girls? We men may be cut after the same pattern, but sometimes I believe no two girls are alike. Personally I like the old-fashioned types better. Peggy Webster would be the best kind of a comrade I expect, but somehow I suppose, being Irish, I could stand for a little more sentiment than she possesses.”
In point of fact Terry was then thinking of Sally Ashton, by whom, since their first meeting, he had been strongly attracted. But there was no distinction in this, as Sally attracted most men. She also made most of them believe that she was filled with exquisite, womanly emotions, when, in reality she had not half the hidden depth of feeling that Peggy’s finer and more sincere nature concealed.
Ralph Marshall had been listening to his two friends, without entering into the conversation, but he now shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh you and Benton are both wrong, Brent; girls are all alike. It is only that they are better actresses than men are and can appear to be different. I’ll bet Peggy Webster is as sentimental and as vain as most of them. I’ll wager I can prove it to you. She is an only girl and has lived surrounded by an adoring family. I don’t suppose she has ever had any man pay her the least attention. If she had she would be like all the rest.”
Terry Benton laughed. “Friend Ralph is a trifle annoyed, isn’t he? Hasn’t Mistress Peggy been sufficiently impressed? Anyhow, Marshall, you can be pretty sure she will never change her temperament for either of us.”
Ralph shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ll bet you a hundred I could make her like me if I tried hard enough.”
“Taken,” Terry Benton replied quickly.
Until this moment Howard Brent had been silent during the conversation which his own words had innocently provoked. However, his face had crimsoned and he was now looking rather angry.
“You men are a couple of—oh, you know well enough what I would like to call you without my saying the word,” he added. “But, in any case, kindly don’t consider me a third in this transaction. It is rather hard luck to have had to stay and hear this much of your conversation.” He turned angrily away.
Terry Benton followed him.
“Oh, don’t take a joke so seriously, Howard. Marshall is ridiculous about himself, although he is a fine enough chap in some ways. I only took up that proposition of his because I thought it would be a good thing for him to lose. He needs to be taken down by a Peggy or two.”
Although the two men were walking away, it was still possible for Ralph Marshall to overhear what they were saying. He felt fairly uncomfortable.
He had spoken at first without any particular realization of the significance of his words and without any direct intention of involving himself in a wager, which certainly appeared objectionable upon the face of it. Then, as often happens, the situation had gotten beyond him.
He wished now that he had never mentioned Peggy. It was bad form for men to discuss a girl with other men, and certainly it was a good deal worse form to have made so absurd a bet concerning one. It was Benton’s own fault. He should not have taken him up so quickly; he should have understood that he had spoken without thinking.
Nevertheless Ralph was not sure that he would not still like to prove to Terry that he could make good.
“But, Vera, you must not continue waiting on Billy in this fashion; he is ever so much better and perfectly able to look after himself.”
Mrs. Webster had just walked across from where she had been sitting with her sister sewing, to a particularly beautiful spot where Vera Lageloff and Billy Webster had been spending the afternoon together. It had been cool during the morning but, with the coming of the afternoon, the sun had shone clearly and warmly.
Vera and Billy had chosen a place near the foot of the hill, down which ran the stream of water that supplied the camp, and near the tiny lake which the Camp Fire girls had conventionally named their wishing well.
Here, in spite of the warm weather, they had built a small camp fire, for there was a quantity of wood from the pine trees nearby.
They had been together for an hour or so, and Mrs. Webster had just observed Vera make the third trip to their group of tents and then return to Billy.
She was standing now with her arms filled with papers and magazines, which she had just secured.
Vera laughed. “Oh, Billy hates to move, and I don’t,” she replied a little apologetically.
But Billy, who should have been the apologetic one, did not appear so in the least.
He was sitting on an Indian blanket which had been spread by Vera before their small fire, smiling placidly at his mother and friend.
“Don’t you think people ought to be allowed to do what they like, Mother?”
Billy did not ask this question in a humorous fashion, as one might suppose under the circumstances, but quite seriously. However, Billy nearly always appeared serious, and yet one never could be sure what spirit hid itself behind his large, abstracted blue eyes.
Mrs. Webster sighed as she sat down beside him. Billy was the least satisfying of her three children and she made no pretense of understanding him. Yet his illness and his physical need of her brought him nearer to her than any one in the world.
“I think people ought to do what they like only when they can be perfectly fair to others at the same time,” she answered gently.
This time Billy smiled. “If one is wanting a thing very hard for oneself, it is not always easy to remember other people; although, of course, it is right,” he agreed unexpectedly. “Still I don’t believe I am doing Vera any serious injustice. She does a great deal more of the Camp Fire work than any of the other girls, and yet none of you realize it. The difference between us is that I do realize what she does for me.”
Vera had also taken a place on the ground with her two companions and Billy now reached over and took hold of her hand.
There was nothing sentimental or emotional in the unusual friendship between the boy and girl, although their devotion to each other was so apparent, and neither ever made the least effort at concealing it. But it was the kind of affection that sometimes exists, even if but rarely, between a brother and sister, and only when the sister is older and the brother unusual.
Vera’s hand was the larger of the two, or at least it appeared so, because the palm was broad and the fingers long and capable. It was the hand of a person whose ancestors had worked with their hands, while Billy’s hand was extraordinarily thin and delicate, with blue veins and long tapering fingers. Vera continued to hold it in hers as unconsciously as a mother might have done.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, please, Mrs. Webster?” she protested smiling. “What I most want is some day to be able to do some kind of work that is worth while. Billy is quite right; I do like work, although I don’t call the little things I do for him by any such name.”
Mollie Webster studied the two friends more closely than they appreciated. Although fond of Vera she could not help, motherlike, being slightly jealous of the friendship between Vera and her son. She accepted the fact of Vera’s better understanding of him; or if not understanding, at least her complete sympathy.
“I don’t believe I was worrying about you, Vera; I must be truthful,” Mrs. Webster continued. “You see, mothers are pretty selfish, so it was Billy I was actually thinking of. I don’t feel worried over your future; you’ll be sure to turn out all right, if you have the proper opportunities. But I don’t know what will become of Billy. You see, dear you are so—so—”
“Lazy,” Billy drawled, good humoredly, finishing his mother’s sentence. “Say the dreadful word; I don’t mind.”
Mrs. Webster shook her head. “I know you don’t worry over your future, and that is the worst of it. You don’t ever try to think of what you wish to do. Dan has already decided to be a scientific farmer, as his father is, and will study agriculture at college. But you, you won’t ever talk of what you would like to do. You know you won’t even exert yourself enough at the present time to get as strong as you should. If you would only walk about more. You might have ridden this afternoon with the others. Dan and Sally both said they would come back with you as soon as you wished, or if Vera had gone with you, she would have seen to you.”
Mrs. Mollie Webster’s tone was plaintive. She was apt to be plaintive in talking to Billy; it was so difficult to make him do what she wished. It was not that he opposed her, only that he did not seem to be convinced, or even aroused, by other people’s opinions of him.
He now remained placidly staring up at the sky.
“Don’t you think it foolish to worry over the future when one may not have any future?” He asked this question in his usual impersonal way, and then added, as if he were surprised at his own sudden conviction, “Do you know I believe I might have a good deal of energy if anything ever strikes me as important enough to make me exert myself.”
Vera laughed. “I wonder what that will ever be? But I wouldn’t worry, if I were you, Mrs. Webster. Billy will be a great writer, some day. He has such queer ideas and is so original.”
Billy drew away his hand.
“Don’t be tiresome and conventional, Vera, like everybody else,” he remarked pettishly, like the spoiled boy he was. “I have told you a dozen times, whenever you mention that idea of yours to me, that I don’t want to write. It must require a dreadful lot of work. Predict that future for Bettina Graham; she yearns after authorship. I would rather talk than write any day; it is so much easier.”
Mrs. Webster flushed and looked annoyed, but Vera paid no attention to Billy’s protests. She seldom did.
However, their conversation was interrupted by several Camp Fire members who rode up and dismounted by the side of Mrs. Burton who had stopped her reading and gotten up to greet them.
The girls had been away for the past two hours, leaving no one in camp save the group of four and Marie, who was busy in one of the tents.
Mr. Simpson had gone with them more as chaperon than guide. He rode in first, attired in his rusty outfit, and looking much more himself than on his first and last essay into the realms of fashion. Not once since the evening of Marie’s refusal of him had he been seen in his “store clothes.”
He was followed by Bettina Graham and Howard Brent, and behind them came Sally Ashton and Terry Benton. Later, Alice and Gerry returned leading their burros and talking to the two young men beside them, who had come over with the others from the hotel for the ride. They were both acquaintances of Howard Brent’s.
“Where are Peggy and Ralph Marshall?” Mrs. Burton inquired of Bettina five minutes later, seeing that they were the only two members of the riding party who had so far failed to appear. The young men were to stay for supper and the girls had returned early in order to make the necessary preparations for them. They had been promised a particularly superior feast as an evidence of the Camp Fire prowess.
Bettina frowned. “I don’t know why Ralph and Peggy did not keep up with the rest of us. Mr. Simpson insisted that we should all ride as close together as we conveniently could. But they kept dropping behind and getting off their ponies to look at views. I don’t understand Peggy’s intimacy with Ralph Marshall for the past few days. I did not think she liked him much better than I did until just lately. Howard Brent is ten times nicer and likes her ever so much, but she will have nothing to do with him. He has to accept my poor society as a substitute and he gets dreadfully bored with me. I know so little about outdoor things compared to Peggy.”
Bettina’s tones were distinctly aggrieved. She and Peggy were such devoted friends that she was annoyed at Peggy’s sudden friendship with a person whom she thought so ordinary and uninteresting, as she considered Ralph.
“He and Peggy are about as unlike as two people ever were in this world,” she added crossly.
“Oh, Ralph is nice enough, ‘Tall Princess;’ you never were altogether fair in your estimate of him. Some people in this world must be frivolous, and Ralph has never been up against a difficulty, or in fact against anything that might develop his character,” Mrs. Burton answered.
Polly Burton put her arm across Bettina’s slender shoulders, giving her a slight squeeze. She was recalling how she used to feel as a girl when Bettina’s mother’s—then Betty Ashton—developed an interest in people, whom she—then Polly O’Neill—never felt worthy of her.
“Besides Peggy may do Ralph good,” she continued. “Peggy is fine, and Ralph—well, Ralph is not fine, Bettina, although I do not dislike him as you do. I suppose they will be along in a few minutes. Peggy would not like to shirk her share of the work tonight. If anything has happened, however, I think it may be Peggy who will have to look after Ralph.”
Bettina then went away to take off her riding clothes and get into her ceremonial Camp Fire dress. Mrs. Burton continued watching for Peggy’s return. She carefully avoided coming in contact with her sister, hoping that Mrs. Webster would not observe Peggy’s absence, as the camp was now more or less in an uproar with the girls’ effort to get dinner and their guests to render assistance, which usually consisted in getting in the way.
Polly tried not to be uneasy, as she thoroughly believed in Peggy’s ability to take care of herself and other people as well. However, when nearly an hour passed and she and Ralph had not appeared, she began to grow uncomfortable.
About an eighth of a mile away there was a shelter among the trees where Mr. Simpson looked after the camp burros and provisions.
Thinking to ask him what should be done in order to find the wayfarers, Mrs. Burton slipped apart from the others and started along a narrow path through the woods.
But a few yards along the way she heard Peggy’s and Ralph’s voices and waited for them to come up to her.
They were walking in single file and also leading their burros.
Peggy was in front. When Mrs. Burton caught sight of her, Peggy’s eyes were shining and her cheeks glowing with color after a fashion they had when she was especially happy or excited.
She passed the bridle of her burro to Ralph.
“Take him to Mr. Simpson along with your’s, won’t you, Ralph, please, and then come on to camp?” she asked.
Then she slid her arm into her aunt’s.
“Don’t be cross, Tante; you look dreadfully severe,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against Mrs. Burton’s shoulder in a funny, boyish way she had had ever since she was a tiny girl. “I know we are late, but Ralph and I have had an adventure since the others left. We did not intend to be so long in returning.”
“It really was exciting for a few moments, Billy. I do wish you had been with us; you would have known better what to do and say to the men!” Peggy Webster exclaimed.
Sitting bolt upright, Billy Webster was actually looking animated—his eyes and color bright with a peculiar transparency.
“It may be exciting for them before the matter is settled,” he replied. “Funny for you and Marshall to have run into a place of that character, when I thought we were living out in the wilderness. Please tell me exactly what happened, Peg?”
Peggy chanced to be sitting alone beside her brother about five minutes after her return to camp, Ralph Marshall not yet having come back from his errand. Mrs. Webster and Vera had both departed to help with dinner, suggesting that Peggy remain and rest after her long ride, as they would attend to her share of the work.
Peggy sat with her shoulders hunched up and, leaning forward, talked quickly.
“Odd, wasn’t it? Ralph and I had dropped behind the others and were talking. We had ridden away from the neighborhood of the canyons through the pine woods. Then, quite suddenly, we came upon a group of tents. You see we had gotten off the road and in some places had gone single file in between the trees.”
“I don’t wonder they were surprised at your turning up,” Billy commented.
“Surprised!” Peggy’s tone was reflective. “I think that is putting the case pretty mildly, Billy. The men were extremely angry at our riding calmly into what they doubtless believed their secret hiding place. Their tents were in a little hollow, with hills and trees around them. The men were sitting before the fire smoking, when I came upon them. As I chanced to be in front, one of them jumped up, said something ugly, and then grabbed my bridle.”
Billy Webster frowned. “Were you frightened, Peggy?”
The girl had dropped back on the ground and was now lying with her hands clasped under her head.
“No, I don’t think so; I was too amazed. Besides, Ralph Marshall rode up almost at once and explained that we had lost our way. The trouble now is, I am so curious. The men were very rough and were undoubtedly in hiding or they would never have behaved so strangely. Yet surely we are past the days in the West when stage coaches and trains used to be held up, aren’t we? Besides, these men had women and children with them.”
Some one was at this instant coming toward them and Billy glanced around. It was odd how much animation, even determination, had lately come into his ordinarily listless face and manner.
“I’ll ride over tomorrow and find out who the men are and why they are hiding so near here,” he announced as calmly as if such an action had been a daily proceeding on his part. “Marshall, you’ll tell me how to get there?” he added, for Ralph, during the moment, had joined them.
He now gazed down with unconscious condescension at the younger boy.
“Oh, I don’t think this group of fellows exactly in your line of business, Billy. If I had not said I would not, I should like to report their hiding place to the nearest sheriff. But, as long as your sister was with me, we simply had to slide out of an uncomfortable situation as easily as we could. I must say she did not mind so much as I did.”
Ralph now looked upon Peggy with an expression no girl or woman could fail to enjoy. It was veiled, of course, and only revealed a reasonable degree of admiration, yet there was nothing excessive and certainly nothing sentimental in it. For Ralph had the wisdom which belongs to the people who know how to make themselves agreeable. He understood something of the temperament of the person he was trying to win. From the first he had known that he must appear to be simple and genuine with Peggy Webster in order to cultivate her intimate friendship and affection.
However, Ralph was sincere. He had admired the calm manner in which Peggy had accepted a disagreeable situation. The type of girl, with whom he usually preferred spending his time, would probably have been both frightened and cross, and would doubtless have blamed him for getting her into an awkward position.
But Peggy had been perfectly reasonable. Indeed, it never seemed to have occurred to her to pretend that she was not equally responsible for their straying off from the others, because she had wished it as much as he had. But, then, Peggy Webster apparently never pretended anything! She was too straightforward to be considered attractive by the men who wish for greater subtleties in their girl friends, as Ralph believed he did.
Nevertheless, it was agreeable to ride quietly back to camp, discussing their recent experience as one would have discussed it with another fellow, simply from the standpoint of curiosity.
The men they had come upon so unexpectedly had looked like an ugly group. However, they had realized that their encounter with them had been an accident, and they had not been particularly rude to Peggy. It would be difficult for any one to be, Ralph decided, as he sat down beside her.
Peggy had gotten halfway up and her dark hair was tumbled about her flushed face. She had not thought to go away and dress as the other girls had, although her costume was dusty from her ride. She had not even a proper share of vanity and self-consciousness.
Nevertheless, Peggy was genuinely pleased at Ralph’s coming directly to her and Billy and taking his place beside them without stopping to talk with any one else.
In the last few days she had found herself liking Ralph very much. In a way this was odd, for she had known him for some time without caring much about him in one way or the other. However, then Ralph had never paid her any particular attention; only recently had he seemed to like being with her more than with any of the other girls. Peggy honestly thought the other Camp Fire girls far more attractive than she could ever be.
Then Ralph did not seem to her nothing but a society fellow, although this was what Bettina Graham insisted. At least he played a good game of tennis, for Peggy had been over to his hotel on two mornings to play with him.
“If we dance this evening, won’t you save most of your dances for me?” Ralph leaned over to murmur in a low voice, so that their other companion could not hear.
And Billy did not overhear, although he arose at this moment and stood staring with a queer, understanding look in his blue eyes at his sister and her friend. “I suppose it won’t hurt Peg a great deal to wake up,” he whispered to himself. “Anyhow, it would do no good for me to interfere.”
But Ralph this time had made a mistake, for Peggy’s dark eyes were gazing at him humorously.
“Don’t be absurd, Ralph,” she returned as good-naturedly and in as matter-of-fact a tone as if she had been talking to one of her brothers. “You know perfectly that I don’t dance very well; certainly not half so well as Bettina, and as you never ask me to dance with you more than once on most evenings, I don’t understand your sudden change of heart. Really you don’t have to be good to me on account of our adventure, because I enjoyed it. Suppose you get Sally or Gerry to amuse you now. I must help a little with dinner.”
Then Peggy and Billy walked off together leaving Ralph to pull himself up and, feeling a little aggrieved, to follow Peggy’s advice.
The Camp Fire table was made of long pine planks set on four logs sawed smooth and to a proper height.
The somewhat informal table was covered with a beautiful damask cloth which the Camp Fire guardian had brought West with her for just such festival occasions. In the center and filled with wild flowers was the great bowl of Indian pottery which she had purchased from old Nampu in her hut near the Painted Desert.
Although it was not yet dark a big camp fire was burning, made bright with pine cones and branches of pine. In the sombre old trees surrounding the open space were a dozen or more golden lanterns. Before dinner could be finished the early darkness would have descended, so the lanterns were merely a preparation for this event.
The girls kept rushing from the kitchen tent and the camp fire with great platters of corn and of freshly baked corn bread and roasted potatoes. At one end of the table was a baked ham and at the other a big dish of broiled chicken. The ham had been secured from the hotel, but if Marie Pepin had not yet learned to enjoy a camping existence, she was true to her French blood and was a wonderful outdoor cook. Marie alone could broil chicken in a perfect fashion above an open camp fire.
Everybody was by this time more than ready for dinner yet they were kept waiting for Dan Webster’s return.
Shortly after his return from the ride Dan had disappeared, saying that he would be back in a short time. At least he had made this statement to Mrs. Burton, for no one else had discussed his intentions with him. And she it was who kept urging that they wait dinner a moment or so longer.
This was most unlike the ordinarily impatient Mrs. Burton; moreover it was a Sunrise Camp Fire rule that meals should wait on no one. However, this rule was not intended as a disagreeable one to punish the offender, but only to protect the guiltless. For, if one were unavoidably late, it was a simple enough matter to find oneself something to eat, and far more comfortable than the sensation of having kept everyone else waiting.
However, just as dinner was served without him Dan Webster drove into camp and the mystery was explained. Seated beside him was the girl who had been an unexpected visitor a few mornings before.
She was using a crutch and Dan had to help her across to a seat beside Mrs. Burton and then took his place on her other side.
Marta Clark was wearing a little grey-green dress, evidently her best, although it was both shabby and old-fashioned. In it she looked tiny and pale; nevertheless, both Mrs. Burton and Dan felt the girl’s charm.
Her eyes seemed to have lights behind them as they shone so oddly, and her lips were a deep red.
“It is awfully good of you to have me here,” she whispered quietly to Mrs. Burton. “You see, I have been living in a tent with my brother for a whole year and this is the first time I have had a meal with any one else.”
She slipped one hand over and touched Mrs. Burton’s.
“Of course, I know you think it stupid and absurd of me, but you can’t guess what it means to me to be sitting so close beside you. I feel as if I must be dreaming. I have so wanted to know a great actress.”
Polly Burton gave the girl’s hand a little friendly pressure in return.
“Then you must wake up,” she said firmly. “You see the girls in my Camp Fire group don’t think of me as an actress, but only as a more or less successful Camp Fire guardian. I don’t like stage-struck girls, even if I was one myself once upon a time, as my sister reminded me. Besides, why should you care, child, anything about me or my work. I really don’t see why it should matter to you whether I am an actress or a—well let us say a sewing woman. I should probably have been as unsuccessful at that as any one could be.”
Mrs. Burton laughed and Marta made no reply. Instead she was wise enough to change the subject immediately.
“In any case you have been wonderfully kind. I am sure I don’t know why, but sometimes it seems as if the wrong things in this life are rewarded, such as my coming here uninvited to see you. I wonder if it was selfish tonight to leave Miss Deal to look after my brother.”
As some one had at that moment distracted Mrs. Burton’s attention by speaking to her from the other end of the table, Marta turned to Dan.
“You have been kindest of all,” she remarked with the sudden gentleness she used as unexpectedly as her sudden flares of temper.
Both amused Dan. He had seen the new girl more frequently than any of the other members of their Camp Fire as, for the past few days he had driven one or two of them over each day to call upon Marta and her brother, or more especially upon Ellen Deal. The visits were naturally not always to the two comparative strangers, but to find out if Ellen were happy and comfortable in her self-appointed task of caring for two invalids unknown to her until a short time before.
After dinner, feeling responsible for their guest, Dan sat beside her while the others danced. But, by and by, Sally Ashton, who did not enjoy having Dan completely absorbed by any one else, came and asked him to dance with her. And Marta insisted that he should.
She was not alone, however, for in a short time Peggy joined her. For some reason Peggy had decided not to dance a single time during the evening. She was not sure of her own reasons, but gave the excuse that she was tired.
She was glad now to have the opportunity of remaining with their guest. For, several times during the evening, Howard Brent had seated himself beside her as if he had something of importance on his mind which he wished to confide. And then he had gotten up and gone away without saying it. Peggy did not wish him to make the attempt again. She was not in a mood for confidences and really rejoiced when, at ten o’clock, all of their guests started for home.
“Very well, Vera, if you won’t go with me, I will go alone,” Billy Webster announced. “It is not too far for you to go back by yourself.”
The two of them were riding slowly away from the Sunrise camp on the following day.
Vera looked distressed.
“It isn’t fair of you, Billy, to put me in this position. You know someone ought to be with you. Won’t you let me at least return and tell your mother what we intend doing,” Vera argued. But she continued riding even as she protested. She was just a little behind Billy and he now turned to look at her.
“Come on then, dear. You are not responsible, and whatever happens the blame is mine. But nothing is going to happen or I would not have you with me. So what is the use of worrying mother? What Peggy told me yesterday interests me and I mean to find out more about what those men are planning to do. No one thinks it extraordinary or tries to prevent Dan from going out to hunt any kind of wild beasts he is lucky enough to discover. But, because I happen to be interested in hunting out human beings, my family is always interfering. I haven’t the least intention of hunting them with a gun.”
Billy smiled half seriously and half humorously and then turned his face away.
But Vera Lageloff and the other people who knew him intimately always understood what this expression meant. Billy had made up his mind; and nothing short of physical force would compel him to stop doing what he had determined upon.
Moreover, Vera rarely opposed him. However unformed his purposes and ideals, however he might appear to other people only as an obstinate and ill-balanced boy, he was Vera’s knight. She, at least, believed in him.