t and recounted the feat of the dead Indians with
which he had made a safe passing for her.

"Well, they did it in history," she defended at last, her cheeks redder
than was perfectly normal. "I read about it--at Waterloo when the Duke
of Wellington--wasn't it? You needn't laugh as if it couldn't be done.
It was that sunken-road business put it into my head in the first
place; and I think you ought to feel flattered."

"I do," gasped Ward, wiping his eyes. "Say, I was some bandit, wasn't
I, William Louisa?"

Billy Louise looked at him sidewise. "No, you weren't any bandit at
all--then. You were a kind scout, that time. I was here, all
surrounded by Indians and saying the Lord's prayer with my hair all
down my back like mommie's Rock of Ages picture--will you shut up
laughing?--and you came riding up that draw over there on a big, black
horse named Sultan (You needn't snort; I still think Sultan's a dandy
name for a horse!). And you hollered to me to get behind that rock,
over there. And I quit at 'Forgive us our debts'--daddy always had so
many!--and hiked for the rock. And you commenced shooting-- Oh, I'm
not going to tell you a single other pretend!" She sulked then, which
was quite as diverting as the most hair-raising "pretend" she had ever
told him and held Ward's attention unflaggingly until they were half
way home.

"Sing the _Chisholm Trail_," she commanded, when her temper was
sunshiny again. This had been a particularly moody day for Ward, and
Billy Louise felt that extra effort was required to rout the
memory-devils. "Daddy knew a little of it, and old Jake Summers used
to sing more, but I never did hear it all."

"Ladies don't, as a general thing," Ward replied, biting his lips.

"Why? I know there's about forty verses, and some of them are kind of
sweary ones; but go ahead and sing it. I don't mind damn now and then."

This sublime innocence was also diverting, even to a man haunted by the
devils of memory. Ward's lips twitched, and a flush warmed his
cheek-bones at the mere thought of singing it all in her presence.
"I'll sing all of _Sam Bass_, if you like," he temporized, with a grin.

"Oh, I hate _Sam Bass_! We had a Dutchman working for us when I was
just a kid, and he was forever bawling out: 'Sa-am Pass was porn in
Injiany, it was-s hiss natiff ho-o-ome!'"

Billy Louise was a pretty good mimic. She had Ward doubled over the
horn again and shouting so that the canyon walls