"Yes, ain't it!" Lahoma glowed. "Then father jumped on one horse with me, and Brick put out on another, and when I woke up, the Indians were all everywhere, but Brick come here and lived all alone and nearly died because he didn't have me to comfort him. So the Indians took me and they killed father, and for two years I was moved from village to village till Red Feather brought me to Brick. And then we found out we are cousins and he is going to civilize me. Brick, he remembers about a cousin of his, Cousin Martha Willock, her sister went driving out to the Oklahoma country with her husband and little girl and wasn't never heard of. I am the little girl, all right, and Brick he's my second cousin. And wasn't it lucky Brick was riding around that night, looking at the country, when they was about to put daylight into me?" "I'd think," remarked the trapper, "that he'd take you back to your Cousin Martha, for men-folks like him and me aren't placed to take care of women-folks." "Yes, but he got a letter saying my Cousin Martha and all her family is done been swept away by a flood of the Mississippi River, and him and me is all they is left of the Willockses, so we got to stick together. Besides, you see, he killed them two robbers, and the rest of the gang is laying for him; Brick, he feels so dreadful, he never having so much as put a scratch to a man's face before, for he wouldn't never fight as a boy, his conscience wouldn't rest if he was in civilization. He'd go right up to the first policeman he met and say, 'I done the deed. Carry me to the pen!' he'd say, and then what would become of me?" "He might get another letter from your Cousin Martha to help him out of the scrape." Lahoma stared at him, unable to grasp the significance of these foolish words, and Brick, seeking a diversion, explained his purpose of taking Lahoma to the settlements after supplies, and proffered his petition that Bill Atkins accompany them. 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.