country, trying to make a home for you up there in the
wilderness, and at last dying from the hardships of the plains. Ain't
she worth a few flowers."

"She dead. She not see flowers, not smell flowers, not know."

Willock said nothing, but the next time they came to a clump of
blossoms he made a nosegay. Lahoma watched him with a face as calm and
unemotional as that of Red Feather, himself. She held her back with
the erect grace and moved her limbs with the swift ease of those among
whom she had passed the last two years. In delightful harmony with
this air of wildness was the rich and delicate beauty of her
sun-browned face, and the golden glow of her silken brown hair.
Willock's heart yearned toward her as only the heart of one destined to
profound loneliness can yearn toward the exquisite grace and
unconscious charm of a child; but to the degree that he felt this
attraction, he held himself firmly aloof, knowing that wild animals are
frightened when kindness beams without its veil.

"What you do with that?" She pointed at the flowers in his rough hand.

"I'm going to put 'em on your mother's grave."

"She not know. Not see, not smell. She dead, mother dead."

"Lahoma, do you know anything about God?"

"Yes--Great Spirit. God make my path white."

"Well, I want God to know that somebody remembers your mother. It's
God that smells the flowers on the graves of the dead."

They walked on. Pretty soon Lahoma began looking about for flowers,
but they had reached the last barren ledge, and no more came in sight.

"Take these, Lahoma."

"No. Couldn't fool God." They began the last descent. Willock
suddenly discovered that tears were slipping down the girl's face. He
said nothing; he did not fear, now, for he thought the tears promised a
brighter dawning.

Suddenly Lahoma cried joyfully, "Oh, look, Brick, look!" And she
darted toward the spot at the foot of a tall cedar, where purple and
white blossoms showed in profusion. She gathered an armful, and they
went down to the plain.

"Her head's toward the west," he said, as they stood beside the pile of
stones. Lahoma placed the flowers at the Western margin of the
pyramid. Willock laid his at the foot of the grave. The sun had set
and the warmth of the heated sand was tempered by a fragrant breeze.
Though late in October, he felt as if spring were just dawning. He
took Lahoma's hand, and his heart throbbed to find that she showed no
disposit