of curiosity cast on the little girl sitting as straight as an
Indian on her pony.

She was glad when a swinging cloud of dust announced the coming of
thousands of steers, attended by cowboys, for it meant a glimpse
into an unknown world, and the bellowing of cattle, the shouting of
men and the cracking of whips stirred her blood. But she was glad,
too, when the stream of life had flowed past, and she was left alone
with Brick and Bill, for then the never-ending conversation with the
former was resumed, picked up at the point where it had been
dropped, or drawn forward from raveled bits of unfinished discourse
of the day before, and though Bill Atkins said almost nothing and
always looked straight ahead, he was, in a way, spice in the feast
of her enjoyment.

When they stopped for their meals, they drew aside from the trail,
if possible near some spring or river-bed in which pools of water
lingered, but such stopping-places were far apart in the desert
country. At night there was a cheerful bonfire, followed by zestful
talk as they lay on the ground, before falling asleep in their
tarpaulins--talk eagerly monopolized by Brick and Lahoma, and to
which Atkins seemed in a manner to listen, perhaps warming his heart
at the light of their comradeship even as they warmed their hands
in the early morning at the breakfast fire. Atkins had brought with
him one of his books, and at the noon hour's rest, and at evening
beside the bonfire, he kept his nose buried in its pages.

Lahoma did not think life would have been too long to devote to such
pilgrimages. In the settlements, she was bewildered, but never
satiated, with novelties, and on the way back, everything she had