"I know every one of you," she said brightly, her dark blue eyes searching their faces--"Mary Williams and Priscilla Winthrop and Vivian Winters--all of you. And I've known you even longer, Virginia. Donald Keith told me all about you a month ago when they helped break my land. I'm so glad you're coming to spend the day with me. You're the very first guests I've ever had on my homestead!" They were glad, too, they told her, liking her at once, and feeling perfectly at ease. She rode beside Virginia, talking of Donald, the other Keiths who had been so good to her, and her neighbors in the southeast corner of the mesa. Virginia, too, talked freely, asking questions, telling of their recent bear hunt, joining in Jean's admiration of the Keiths. To the three New Englanders, who rode a little behind them, this new comradeship, though a little startling to their inherent conservatism, 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!"