At least she knew she had discovered the key which would open the gate to the trail. She felt of it upon her waist. To be "Ever Vigilant" would open the door. To be watchful of one's opportunities; never to scorn a chance to serve; to guard against the cheap and the unlovely in books and thoughts; to keep the windows of one's soul shining and clean, so that the light of all things beautiful might shine in. She held the little pin close in her hand. She and Priscilla and Dorothy and Mary and Vivian would keep to the trail together. Life was such a great, big thing she said to herself. Her breath sobbed in her throat at the thought. It was like a day in April--cloudy and sunny and wind-blown and rainy. She wanted her own life to be like that. Then she could understand the storms and clouds in other lives, and prove she was a comrade and not just an onlooker! The fire died down and she went for more wood. As she placed a big log on the glowing embers and turned away from the heat as it burst into flame, she saw that the fire on Sagebrush was rekindled also. She could discern a shadowy shape in the light of it. Donald, perhaps. He loved the night, too. She had forgotten Donald for the moment when she chose her comrades for the Long Trail, but he must go. She had followed trails with Donald all her life, and on this great journey she needed his comradeship more than ever. It was one o'clock, her little watch said--time to sleep. The great log with another added would last till morning. She rolled the second against 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!"