“Now, I am rich. I flatter myself that I know the world. I will aid you to a divorce and obtain one myself. After marriage we will travel, visit Florence, Naples, drink in all the myriad beauties of the Old World. If you have ambitions, I will help you to achieve. I will gratify your tastes for music, art, literature; I will free those wonderful impulses that throb beneath that calm exterior—those sensuous instincts to which your lout of a husband is so totally oblivious.” I sprang to my feet. “That will be all, if you please. Don’t say another word.” I busied myself with the horses. He placed their grain, then drew close to me. “My God, Ethel. I love you, girl, love you, do you hear? Give me just a little chance, won’t you?” He caught my hand and pressed it to his lips. I wrenched it away roughly, and looked about in desperation. The long shadows of late afternoon lay among the hills; the country was wild and rugged—not a human habitation in sight. I was absolutely alone with this maniac. I turned with resolute mien. “See here, my friend. If you love me even half as much as you say you do, you will cease your insulting proposals, hitch up this team and take me back to civilisation. You will make me hate you, if you keep on as you are doing.” He stood motionless, staring at me with sombre eyes. Then, as I began to place the harness on the horses, he came to my assistance, and together we watered them and hitched them to the buckboard. We drove home in silence and reached camp just as Dan came whistling down the road. It was plain that my husband knew nothing of my desertion by Mrs. Adams that morning, and I was in no condition to tell him anything coherent. I stood like a wooden Indian as he seized me around the waist with a bearlike hug. “Good news,” he cried. “To-day’s work brings our credit with the old man up to an even fifty dollars. Not so bad for a poor hobo, is it, now?” He caught sight of my face and became all sympathy. “Why, sweetheart, what’s the matter? Are you sick?” “N-no, not sick exactly,” I faltered, with lips that persisted in quivering a trifle. “Well, you look awfully queer, some way. Has that old cat been bothering you again?” “Yes,” I murmured. “She’s pretty mean, and it’s been so hot, and I—oh, I guess I’m about played out.” He gently led me to a spot as far removed from the Adams’ camp as possible, made a couple of trips to the wagons and brought back our bedding, a few cooking utensils and some food for supper. Then he induced me to lie down, while he built a fire and prepared the meal. “Poor little girl,” he murmured. “I know all this is mighty rough on you, but if I can only keep on as I’ve been doing for the past three weeks, it won’t be so very long till we can ride the cushions home in comfort. Meantime, leave the old cat alone as much as possible, and try not to take the situation too seriously.”