the first, and lay down beside Vivian. The heat from the fire made her
drowsy, and she soon slept. The flames leaped against the darkness; Pedro
awakened and neighed questioningly; another star fell from the sky.
Carver, Virginia, and Vivian were all in lands of their own. All at once a
hideous yell shattered the night silence. It shrieked and quavered and
moaned, and at last died away in an echo that encircled the valley.
Virginia, mounting a rocky hill with Donald, sat up suddenly. A figure
enshrouded in blankets stood beside her. Vivian mercifully slept on.

"Gee!" screamed the half-asleep and wholly frightened Carver Standish III.
"What was that?"

"A mountain lion," said Virginia, shaking in spite of herself. "But he's
miles away across the valley. I'm glad Vivian didn't wake up. She'd have
been scared to death."

"I shouldn't blame her!" replied Carver in a stentorian whisper. "I never
heard anything like it in my life. My! I'm sleepy! It's most eleven,
isn't it?"

Virginia smiled into the darkness. Not for worlds would she have told
Carver of his unsuccessful vigil.

"Yes, Carver," she said. "It's--it's past eleven!"

Alone she watched the day come as she had watched it go. She saw the last
stars fade away, and the half-light of early morning greet the eastern
mountains. She felt in a strange silence the mystery and majesty of dawn.
A mourning dove in a far-away thicket said farewell to the night; an early
morning wind stirred the quaking-asps; an orange and yellow bird left his
nest and mate to fly across the valley toward a sky-line of his own hue.
The trees stood expectant. Then the light came in long, golden rays. It
was day.

By six they were on their way to breakfast with their fellow-campers at
Sagebrush--Vivian, incredulous that the night was really over and that she
had slept; Carver, secretly much disturbed over his protecting powers;
Virginia, eager, radiant, buoyant. Donald waited for them on the other
side of the Canyon Path, and watched their safe transit. Aunt Nan and the
others were ready at the camp with welcomes and words of genuine
admiration.

"I'd have been worried to death about you," said Priscilla with her arm
around Virginia, "if it hadn't been for Carver's being there. Yes, I
would, Virginia. I don't care how much you know about camping. A man's
being around makes a heap of difference. You know it does!"

"Of course," agreed the loyal Virginia.

But Carver Standish III drank