"Yes, but he got a letter saying my Cousin Martha and all her family
is done been swept away by a flood of the Mississippi River, and him
and me is all they is left of the Willockses, so we got to stick
together. Besides, you see, he killed them two robbers, and the
rest of the gang is laying for him; Brick, he feels so dreadful, he
never having so much as put a scratch to a man's face before, for
he wouldn't never fight as a boy, his conscience wouldn't rest if
he was in civilization. He'd go right up to the first policeman he
met and say, 'I done the deed. Carry me to the pen!' he'd say, and
then what would become of me?"

"He might get another letter from your Cousin Martha to help him
out of the scrape."

Lahoma stared at him, unable to grasp the significance of these
foolish words, and Brick, seeking a diversion, explained his purpose
of taking Lahoma to the settlements after supplies, and proffered
his petition that Bill Atkins accompany them.

Lahoma has never forgotten that expedition to the settlements.
Along the Chisholm Trail marched Brick Willock and Bill Atkins, one
full of genial philosophy, responsive to every sight and sound along
the way, the other taciturn and uncompanionable, a being present in
the flesh, but seemingly absent in the spirit. Behind them rode the
girl, with unceasing interest in the broad hard-beaten trail--the
only mark in that wilderness to tell them that others had passed
that way. The men walked with deliberate but well-measured step,
preserving a pace that carried them mile after mile seemingly with
little weariness. Three times on the journey great herds of cattle
were encountered on their way toward Kansas, and many were the looks