for four years doing by herself what
she would have done under her father's supervision had he lived. That
argued for steadfastness and strength of character. She would not utter
one word of flattery. She would say nothing she did not mean. Watching
her intently, Donald Whiting thought of all these things. He thought of
what she had said about fighting for him, and he wondered if it really
was true that any girl he knew would fight for him. He hardly believed
it when he remembered some of his friends, so entirely devoted to
personal adornment and personal gratification. But Linda had said that
all women were alike in their hearts. She knew about other things. She
must know about this. Maybe all women would fight for their young or for
their men, but he knew of no other girl who could drive a Bear Cat with
the precision and skill with which Linda drove. He knew no other girl
who was master of the secrets of the desert and the canyons and the
mountains. Certainly he knew no other girl who would tug at great
boulders and build a fireplace and risk burning her fingers and
scorching her face to prepare a meal for him. So he watched Linda and so
he thought.

At first he thought she was the finest pal a boy ever had, and then he
thought how he meant to work to earn and keep her friendship; and then,
as the fire reddened Linda's cheeks and she made running comments while
she deftly turned her skewers of brigand beefsteak, food that half the
Boy Scouts in the country had been eating for four years, there came an
idea with which he dallied until it grew into a luring vision.

"Linda," he asked suddenly, "do you know that one of these days you're
going to be a beautiful woman?"

Linda turned her skewers with intense absorption. At first he almost
thought she had not heard him, but at last she said quietly: "Do you
really think that is possible, Donald?"

"You're lovely right now!" answered the boy promptly.

"For goodness' sake, have an eye single to your record for truth and
veracity," said Linda. "Doesn't this begin to smell zippy?"

"It certainly does," said Donald. "It's making me ravenous. But honest,
Linda, you are a pretty girl."

"Honest, your foot!" said Linda scornfully. "I am not a pretty girl.
I am lean and bony and I've got a beak where I should have a nose.
Speaking of pretty girls, my sister, Eileen, is a pretty girl. She is a
downright beautiful girl."

"Yes," said Donald, "she is, but she can't hold a ca