Lahoma has never forgotten that expedition to the settlements.Along the Chisholm Trail marched Brick Willock and Bill Atkins,one full of genial philosophy,responsive to every sight and sound along the way,the other taciturn and uncompanionable,a being present in the flesh,but seemingly absent in the spirit.Behind them rode the girl,with unceasing interest in the broad hard-beaten trail--the only mark in that wilderness to tell them that others had passed that way.The men walked with deliberate but well-measured step,preserving a pace that carried them mile after mile seemingly with little weariness.Three times on the journey great herds of cattle were encountered on their way toward Kansas,and many were the looks of curiosity cast on the little girl sitting as straight as an Indian on her pony.
She was glad when a swinging cloud of dust announced the coming of thousands of steers,attended by cowboys,for it meant a glimpse into an unknown world,and the bellowing of cattle,the shouting of men and the cracking of whips stirred her blood.But she was glad,too,when the stream of life had flowed past,and she was left alone with Brick and Bill,for then the never-ending conversation with the former was resumed,picked up at the point where it had been dropped,or drawn forward from raveled bits of unfinished discourse of the day before,and though Bill Atkins said almost nothing and always looked straight ahead,he was,in a way,spice in the feast of her enjoyment.
When they stopped for their meals,they drew aside from the trail,if possible near some spring or river-bed in which pools of water lingered,but such stopping-places were far apart in the desert country.At night there was a cheerful bonfire,followed by zestful talk as they lay on the ground,before falling asleep in their tarpaulins--talk eagerly monopolized by Brick and Lahoma,and to which Atkins seemed in a manner to listen,perhaps warming his heart at the light of their comradeship even as they warmed their hands in the early morning at the breakfast fire.Atkins had brought with him one of his books,and at the noon hour's rest,and at evening beside the bonfire,he kept his nose buried in its pages.
Lahoma did not think life would have been too long to devote to such pilgrimages.In the settlements,she was bewildered,but never satiated,with novelties,and on the way back,everything she had seen was discussed,expounded and classified between her and her cousin.Sometimes her questions drove Brick up against a stone wall and then Bill Atkins would raise his voice and in three or four words put the matter in its true light.
Bill,he's saw more of life than me,Brick conceded admiringly.He has come and went amongst all sorts of people,but my specialty has in the main been low.
Yes,I've seen more of life,Atkins agreed;that's why I try so hard to keep away from it.
The more I see,the more I want to see!cried Lahoma eagerly.Yes,honey,Brick explained,that's because you're a WOMAN.
Once more back in the cove,Lahoma dreamed new dreams,peopling the grassy solitude with the figures she had encountered on her travels,likening the rocks to various houses that had caught her fancy.She turned with absorbed interest to the primer and elementary arithmetic with which Brick had supplied himself as the first tools for his mental kit.
The journey hack home had been far easier than the descent into Texas because both Willock and Atkins had supplied themselves with ponies,--animals that sold ridiculously cheap at the outlying posts of the settlements.Brick Willock brought back with him something else to add cheerfulness and usefulness to approaching winter.This was a square window-sash,set with four small panes of good glass.It was hard work to place this window in Lahoma's side of the dugout,but it was work thoroughly enjoyed.Lahoma's room was on the west,and from noon to sundown,the advantage of the window was a source of never-ending delight.
Good thing we've got our window,Brick would say as they sat on the low rude bench before the little stove,and the furious wind of January howled overhead.Or,when the wintry sky was leaden and all Brick's side of the partition was as dark as the hole of a prairie-dog,he would visit Lahoma,and gloat over the dim gray light stealing through the small panes.That window's no bad idea!he would chuckle,stooping his great bulk cautiously as he seated himself,as if to lighten his weight by doubling in upon himself.
