"Why you like to climb the mountains, Johnny. Don't you know you said you liked to climb the mountains better than to eat?" "Oh, yes, yes--I--I like to climb a mountain. That is, I like to climb one mountain at a time. But when there are two or three mountains all piled up on top of one another, Oh, oh, oh!" "Oh, Johnny! You to go to bragging about climbing mountains! You can't climb mountains!" And again the girl, with shoes that would hardly hold together, a dress in ribbons, and a face not unfamiliar with the dirt of the earth, danced back and forth before him and sung snatches of a mountain song. "Oh, I'm so happy up here, Johnny. I always sing like a bird up here." Then, looking in his face, she saw that he was very thoughtful; and stepping back, and then forward, she said: "Why, what makes you so serious? They won't never come up here, will they, Johnny? Not even if somebody at the Reservation wanted me awful bad, and somebody gave somebody lots of money to take me back, they couldn't never come up here, could they, Johnny?" And the girl looked eagerly about. "Oh, no, Carrie, you are safe here. Why, you are as safe here as in a fort." "This mountain is God's fort, John Logan says, Johnny. It is for the eagles to live in and the free people to fly to; for my people to climb up out of danger and talk to the Great Spirit that inhabits it." The girl clasped her hands and looked up reverently as she said this. "But come, now, Johnny, don't be serious, and I will sing you the nicest song I know till Forty-nine comes up the mountain; and I will dance for you, Johnny, and I will do all that a little girl can do to make you glad and happy as I am, Johnny." Here John Logan came up the hill, and the girl stopped and said, very seriously, "And you are right sure, John Logan, nobody will get after us again?--nobody follow us away up here, jam up, nearly against Heaven?" Here the two men looked out. "No, Carrie, nobody will ever climb this high for you,--nobody, except _somebody_ that loves you very much, and loves you very truly." "Injins might, but white men won't, I guess; too stiff in the jints!" And again the girl whirled and danced about, as if she had not heard one word he said. Yet she had heard every word, and heeded, too, for her eyes sparkled, and she danced even lighter than before; for her heart was light, and the wretched little outcast was--for a rare thing in her miserable life--very, very happy. "I ain't stiff in the jints, am I, Johnny?" and she tapped her ankles. "Carrie, sing me that other song of yours, and that will make my heart lighter," said Johnny. "Why, Johnny, we haven't even got the clouds to overshadow us here; we're above the clouds, and everything else. But I'll sing for you if I can only make you glad as you was before they got after us." And throwing back her hair and twisting herself about, looking back over her shoulder and laughing, looking down at her ragged feet, and making faces, she began.