Margaret Vandercook - The Camp Fire Girls at the End of the Trail

“I am sorry,” the Camp Fire guardian began quickly. “Dan and I must both have been mistaken in thinking you the person we were seeking. But you must forgive my nephew, the fault was mine. I was under the impression that some one was spying upon us, and who, for some absurd reason, was not willing to be discovered.”

The girl shook her head. “You were not mistaken. I have been watching you – or trying to – since early this morning. And I hate your having discovered me.”

She spoke quietly in a soft but at the same time throaty voice, as if she were a little hoarse.

Polly Burton was puzzled and yet it was stupid of her to have been. It was true that here in the West in the past few months, living outdoors with her group of Camp Fire girls, she had honestly forgotten a number of facts about herself.

“I don’t understand.”

But at this instant, murmuring something or other in apology, Dan Webster moved a few steps aside.

The girl turned her head.

“Don’t let go your hold on me,” she said almost angrily.

Again Dan held out his arm and this time the girl clutched it.

Dan’s face was crimson; he felt the whole situation to be extraordinarily awkward. He was not quick either in thought or action and undoubtedly he was confused by the words and the behavior of the girl who had been his prisoner a few moments before. Now she held on to him as if she dared not let go. He could feel her hand trembling on his arm and indeed her whole body was shaking.

Then Dan gave an inward sigh of relief, seeing that his mother was approaching them.

“You have hurt yourself, haven’t you, child?” she began in a sensible comfortable fashion. “I presume you were merely curious about my sister and our Camp Fire proceedings. I know the information has gone out over the neighborhood that we wished to be left to ourselves. You understand my sister has to see so many people when she is playing that she has let it be known she wishes to meet nobody here. If you have been trying to see her without being observed, she must remember a time, which does not seem so long ago to me, when she was only a stage-struck girl herself. There, take my arm and let Dan help you to my tent.”

The girl had looked unhappy at the beginning of Mrs. Webster’s speech, but before the close she laughed a little uncertainly.

“I am afraid that is true,” she returned. “In any case I owe you an apology, Mrs. Burton.” She had dropped the lids over her eyes to hide her chagrin, but she went on honestly. “I suppose I am a stage-struck girl, although I do not like hearing myself called one. But I did come over here this morning at daylight for a look at your camp. Of course I never dreamed of seeing you. But when you started for your walk I did go along near you, as I did not suppose you would either see or hear me. But it was wonderful just to be so near you!”

In the meantime Peggy Webster had slipped forward and now stood alongside her aunt.

“Don’t be hateful, Tante,” she whispered warningly, knowing from experience that her aunt’s good nature was not always to be relied upon under trying circumstances. Moreover she had forgotten, as ninety-nine people out of a hundred do, when they arrive at distinction, how she had felt toward famous persons in her own youth.

But on this occasion Peggy need not have been uneasy.

The new girl was evidently of gentle breeding in spite of the shabbiness of her attire and the fact that she was rather more plain than good looking.

“Nonsense, child, it is oftentimes distinctly disagreeable to be near me, as my Camp Fire girls may tell you. But come and have breakfast with us, if you really have been prowling about since daylight as I have. I am dreadfully hungry.”

She started away with Peggy, expecting the others to follow. Either Mrs. Burton had not heard her sister’s speech, or else believed that her beloved Mollie was only fussing over the newcomer’s health as she did over everybody’s.

“Thank you, I would rather not be troublesome,” the new girl answered.

At this she let go Dan’s arm and took a step forward. But the pain of walking alone was too great for her self-control.

As people always did in disaster she turned to Mrs. Webster.

“I fear I have hurt myself and it is so stupid of me. Really I don’t know what to do. You see I did not want to be discovered and when I heard some one coming after me I started to run. I must have tripped and fallen over a stump in the underbrush. As soon as I got up I was a prisoner.”

She flashed a peculiar glance at Dan Webster; but whether she was angry or amused over his discomfiture it was difficult to decide. Yet Dan looked wretched enough to satisfy the most teasing desire for revenge. He had the sweetest and most chivalrous temper in the world. No one ever remembered Dan’s deliberately hurting any one in his life. Now he undoubtedly felt as if he had caused a perfectly innocent girl to do herself a painful injury and had afterwards treated her with unpardonable rudeness. But it was not difficult to make Dan Webster feel himself in the wrong, both his sister Peggy, and his twin brother, frequently taking advantage of this trait of his character.

“You are not a prisoner in any sense,” Mrs. Webster replied, speaking more coldly, and appreciating Dan’s embarrassment. “But if you are hurt we shall be glad to do what we can for you and some one will drive you back to your home.”

More humbly the girl then took hold of Mrs. Webster’s proffered arm, and still holding on to Dan, started toward Mrs. Webster’s tent not many yards away.

In a curious fashion Dan felt that, in spite of her pretense of anger, the girl by his side felt a reliance upon him. And for some reason he could not explain he was interested in her. She was not half so pretty as many of the Camp Fire girls – Sally Ashton and Gerry Williams for instance. Yet there was something fascinating in her grey-green eyes, in her long nose with that funny twist at the end of it, and in the uncertainty of her behavior.

Naturally Dan thought it ridiculous of the strange girl to have been hiding about in their neighborhood for the very ordinary pleasure of beholding his famous aunt.

Dan did not take Mrs. Burton or her fame as an actress seriously. Indeed, unconsciously he had inherited some of his father’s old prejudice against women in any kind of public life. He was fond of his aunt, but not as Peggy was, or even his brother, Billy. For, although Billy did not bestow much affection upon any human being, except his mother and Vera Lageloff, he admired Mrs. Burton, was proud of her success, and was really more influenced by her opinion than any one’s else.

The new girl walked with difficulty, but Dan could not help admiring her pluck. Ordinarily her skin was sallow but it was an odd greenish-white at present.

Outside his mother’s tent Dan departed to find Ellen Deal.

Since the arrival of the Sunrise Camp Fire girls in Arizona, Ellen Deal had had but few opportunities for the display of her usefulness as a trained nurse. She had not graduated in nursing, since a breakdown in health had prevented her from finishing the last year of training. But she was older than the other Camp Fire girls and had come West with them because of Dr. Sylvia Wharton’s request made to her half sister and always her beloved friend, Polly O’Neill, or Mrs. Richard Burton.

The call to the sick, however, with Ellen was like the call to arms with a soldier.

Fifteen minutes later, when Dan was finishing a belated breakfast, Ellen reappeared and sat down beside him. The next moment he saw the new girl come out of his mother’s tent with her assistance and drop down on a cushion outside.

“Nothing serious the matter, as far as I can tell,” Ellen announced in the business-like manner which seems to be considered professional. “Nevertheless I would like to have a doctor if one can be found over at the hotel or anywhere nearby. Our unexpected visitor has bruised and strained her knee and it may be worse than I think.”