en in the terrible desert. You are the first
girl I've seen that reminded me of home; when I saw you and knew you
were my kind, the way you held yourself and the smile in your eyes--"

Bill interposed: "Don't you forget that binding, young man!"

"Of course not. But I don't know how to tell just what it means to me
to be with her--with all of you, I mean--but her especially,
because--well, I had so many friends among the girls, back home
and--and-- It's no use trying to explain; if you've known the horrible
lonesomeness of the plains you already understand, and if you don't..."

"I know what you mean," Willock remarked, with a reminiscent sigh.

"Let it not be put in words," Bill persisted. "If a thing can't be
expressed, words only mislead. I never knew any good to come of
talking about smiles in eyes. There's nothing to it but misleading
words."

"Go on, Lahoma," said Willock encouragingly, "we're both staying with
you, to see that you come out of this with flying colors. Just go
ahead."

"I want to ask you all about yourself," remarked Lahoma thoughtfully,
"because I can see from your face, and the way you talk, that you're a
real sample of the big world. If I tell you all about myself, will you
do the same?"

Wilfred promised, and Lahoma entered on the history of her childhood.
Wilfred looked and listened joyously, conscious of the unusual scene,
alive to the subtle charm of her fearless eyes, her unreserved
confidences, the melting harmony of her musical tones. To be sure, she
was only a child, but he saw already the promise of the woman. The
petals as yet were closed, but the faint sweet fragrance was already
astir. He found, too, that in her nature was already developed
something not akin to youth, something impersonal, having nothing to do
with one's number of years--like the breath of experience, or the
ancient freshness of a new day. It was born of the mountains and
nourished in the solitude of the plains.

How different the girls of fifteen or sixteen such as he had known in
the city or in sophisticated villages in the East! Lahoma had not been
so engrossed by trivial activities of exacting days that she had lacked
time for thought. Her housekeeping cares were few and devoid of
routine, leaving most of the hours of each day for reading, for
day-dreaming, for absorbed meditation. Somehow the dreams seemed to
linger in, her voice, to hover upon her brow, to form a part of her;
and the