was interesting in the extreme. It seemed to be born of a
land too big for ceremonies, too frank and open for formalities; and soon
they found themselves urging their horses up to Pedro and Robert Bruce, so
that they too might enter the widening circle of fellowship.

All four Vigilantes found themselves studying the face of this girl who so
often turned toward one and another with a question or a reply. It was a
face too tanned and too large-featured to be beautiful or even pretty; but
the lines about the nose and mouth were firm and strong, the eyes were
wide-open and fearless, and the head was set most independently upon a
pair of broad, straight shoulders. There was something about the girl like
the mesa--fearless, big, wholesome. It showed itself in the way she
managed her horse, in her hearty manner of laughing with her head thrown
back, and in the calm, sure, straightforward expression of her dark blue
eyes.

"She'd make the finest kind of a friend, I'm sure of that," said Mary to
herself, and then to Priscilla and Vivian, as they dropped behind for a
moment just before reaching the little cabin.

"Yes," agreed Priscilla, "she surely would. I wonder what there is about
her that makes a person feel small. I've been feeling positively
microscopic ever since she rode up to us."

"I'm glad you have," sighed Vivian, thankful that another shared her
sensation. "So have I. I feel about as big as a field-mouse, and I think I
know why. You just know a girl like her would never fall off a horse, or
run away from a gun, or--do anything babyish like that. And just imagine
daring to live all alone in a little cabin like this! I'd die! I know I
should!"

But the small feeling was forgotten in the good time which followed.
Robert Bruce, unspeakably glad of company, escorted his four guests to
choice bits of grass in among the sagebrush; the two collies barked in
welcome; and the girls, loaded with saddles and bridles, went in through
the gate toward the cabin. Jean MacDonald, proud and happy, led the way
into the house and the interested Vigilantes followed. They had never
supposed a log house could be so attractive within; but the neat dark
furniture, the couch with its brown cover, the stone fire-place, and the
books and pictures made the little cabin one of the most homelike places
they had ever seen. A mountain sheep looked down upon them from above the
fire-place. Jean had shot him the winter before in Montana, she to