rtha, for men-folks like him and me aren't placed to take care
of women-folks."

"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 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