d every man is a member!

Having bolted his dinner Olie always makes for outdoors. Then Dinky-Dunk
comes to my side of the table. We sit side by side, with our arms around
each other. Sometimes I fill his pipe for him and light it. Then we talk
lazily, happily, contentedly and sometimes shockingly. Then he looks at
our nickel-alarm clock, up on the book shelves which I made out of old
biscuit-boxes, and invariably says: "This isn't the spirit that built
Rome," and kisses me three times, once on each eyelid, tight, and once
on the mouth. I don't even mind the taste of the pipe. Then he's off,
and I'm alone for the afternoon.

But I'm getting things organized now so that I have a little spare time.
And with time on my hands I find myself turning very restless. Yesterday
I wandered off on the prairie and nearly got lost. Dinky-Dunk says I
must be more careful, until I get to know the country better. He put me
up on his shoulder and made me promise. Then he let me down. It made me
wonder if I hadn't married a masterful man. Above all things I've always
wanted freedom.

"I'm a wild woman, Duncan. You'll never tame me," I confessed to him.

He laughed a little.

"So you think you will?" I demanded.

"No, _I_ won't, Gee-Gee, but life will!"

And again I felt some ghostly spirit of revolt stirring in me, away down
deep. I think he saw some shadow of it, caught some echo of it, for his
manner changed and he pushed back the hair from my forehead and kissed
me, almost pityingly.

"There's one thing must _not_ happen!" I told him as he held me in his
arms.

He did not let his eyes meet mine.

"Why?" he asked.

"I'm afraid--out here!" I confessed as I clung to him and felt the need
of having him close to me. He was very quiet and thoughtful all
evening. Before I fell asleep he told me that on Monday the two of us
would team in to Buckhorn and get a wagon-load of supplies.

_Saturday the Twenty-eighth_

I have got my cayuse. Dinky-Dunk meant him for a surprise, but the
shyest and reddest-headed cowboy that ever sat in a saddle came
cantering along the trail, and I saw him first. He was leading the
shaggiest, piebaldest, pottest-tummied, craziest-looking little cayuse
that ever wore a bridle. I gave one look at his tawny-colored forelock,
which stood pompadour-style about his ears, and shouted out
"Paderewski!" Dinky-Dunk came and stood beside me and laughed. He said
that cayuse _did_ look like Paderewski, but