he can. All men's like that with their squaw."

"I won't tell him," promised Pen. "But what shall I do?" She clasped
and unclasped her fingers, then she sprang to her feet. "I know! I know!
It will be like a strong arm under his poor overburdened shoulders!"

CHAPTER XXIII

THE SILENT CAMPAIGN

"I have seen that those humans who seek strength from Nature
never fail to find it."

MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT.

Suma-theek waited eagerly. "I'll send for Uncle Benny," said Pen. "He'll
leave anything to help Jim."

Suma-theek nodded. "Good medicine. He that fat uncle that love the Big
Boss. I sabez him. You get 'em here quick," and Suma-theek sighed with
the air of one who had accomplished something.

"I'll telephone a night telegram to Cabillo," said Pen. "He ought to be
here in a week. But we mustn't tell the Big Boss or he wouldn't let us
do it."

Suma-theek nodded and strolled off. When Pen returned to the tent Sara
was full of curiosity, but Pen began to get supper with the remark, "I'm
not the proper one to tell you, if you don't know!"

When Pen sent the night telegram, she telephoned to Jane Ames, getting
her promise to come up to the dam the next day. As she took the long
trail back from the store, where she had gone for privacy in sending her
messages, it seemed to Pen that she could not bear to refuse Jim the
comfort for which he had begged.

"My one safeguard," she thought, "is to avoid him except where we are
chaperoned by half the camp. My poor boy, keeping his real troubles to
himself!"

After Sara was asleep that night, Pen slipped over to talk with Mrs.
Flynn. The two women were good friends. Sara's ugliness deprived Pen
here as it had in New York of the friendship of most women. In the camp
were many charming women who had lived lives with their engineering
husbands that made them big of soul and sound of body. But Sara would
have none of them. So Pen fell back on Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Flynn and the
strangely matched trio had many happy hours together.

But Mrs. Flynn was not in her kitchen, nor was she in her little
bedroom. Pen wandered into the living room. Mrs. Flynn was not there,
but Jim was lying on the couch asleep, his hat on the floor beside him.
For many moments Pen stood looking at him. Sleep robbed Jim of his guard
of self-control. The man lying on the couch, with face relaxed, lips
parted, hair tumbled, looked like the boy wh