d a longing to
help him. She slid one hand up and pinched his ear, just as she would
playfully tweak the ear of a child.

"Ward, you mustn't. I've seen you think and think and look as if you
hadn't a friend on earth. You mustn't. I suppose you've got lots of
friends who'd stand by you through anything. Anyway, you've got me,
and--I understand all about it." She whispered those last words, and
her heart thumped heavily with trepidation after she had spoken.

Ward raised his head, caught one of her hands and held it fast while he
looked deep into her eyes. He was searching, questioning, measuring,
and he was doing it without uttering a word. The plummet dropped
straight into the clear, sweet depths of her soul. If it did not reach
the bottom, he was satisfied with the soundings he took. He drew a
deep breath and gave her hand a little squeeze and let it go.

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry," he said, speaking in a hushed tone
because of the woman in the next room. "I was thinking about a man I
may meet some day; and if I do meet him, the chances are I'll kill him.
I--didn't--I forgot where I was--" He threw out a hand in a gesture
that amply completed explanation and apology and fumbled in his pocket
for tobacco and papers. Abstractedly he began the making of a
cigarette.

Billy Louise put wood on the fire, pulled up a square, calico-padded
stool, and sat down. She waited, and she had the wisdom to wait in
complete silence.

Ward leaned forward with a twig in his hand, got it ablaze, and lighted
his cigarette. He did not look at Billy Louise until he had taken a
whiff or two. Then he stared at her for a full minute, and ended by
flipping the charred twig playfully into her lap, and laughing a little
because she jumped.

"What made you catch your breath when I told my name that night I
came?" he asked quizzically, but with a tensity behind the lightness of
his tone and behind the little smile in his eyes as well. "Where had
you ever heard of me before?"

Billy Louise gasped again, sent a lightning-thought into the future,
and answered more casually than she had hoped she could.

"When I was a kid I ran across the name--somewhere--and I used it to
play with--"

"Yes?"

"You know--I was always making believe different things. I never had
anyone to play with in my life, so I had a pretend-girl, named Minervy.
And I had you. I used to have you rescue us from Indians and things,
but mostly you were