It was as though they walked on
opposite sides of the road, and neither could bridge the distance
between.

Both doggedly immersed in their own reflections, they walked on rapidly
in spite of the heat and with no thought of time or distance until Jim
realized that his companion was lagging, and glanced up to see that the
sun had started well upon the western trail.

"By Jove! You must be almost starved!" he cried. "I never thought--why
didn't you wake me out of this trance I seem to have been in, and tell
me it was long past time for chow? We must have walked miles!"

"I didn't think, either." Lou glanced about her wearily. "I don't see
any house, but I kinder think I hear a little brook somewhere, don't
you? Let's find it, an' then hurry on; if we've got to do sixty miles by
the day after to-morrow we got to be movin' right steady."

They found the little brook, and ate of their supplies and drank
heartily, for they were both famished by the long walk, but all the
carefree joyousness seemed to have gone out of the adventure, and when
Lou discovered that the knot in the corner of her handkerchief had
become untied and the remainder of her capital was gone, it appeared to
be the last cloud needed to immerse her in gloom.

Her feet were blistered and every muscle ached with fatigue, but she
shook her head when Jim asked if she were too tired to go on, and limped
determinedly out into the road after him. She had accepted his
companionship to New York, and she would drop in her tracks before she
would be a drag on him and prevent his reaching there in the time which
was so mysteriously important to him.

A mile farther on, however, an empty motor van picked them up, and
seated at the back with her feet hanging over, Lou promptly fell asleep,
her head sagging unconsciously against Jim's shoulder. He did not touch
her, but moved so that her head should fall into a more comfortable
position, and looked down with new tenderness at the tow-colored hair.
The ridiculous, outstanding braid was gone, and instead, a soft knot
appeared low on the slender, sun-burned neck, with tiny tendrils of
curls escaping from it.

What a game little sport she had proved herself to be! He wondered how
many girls of his own set would have had the courage and endurance for
such a test. Then to his own amazement he found himself thinking of them
with a certain sense of disparagement, almost contempt. They would not
have had the moral courage,