a few priceless
moments they would be walking side by side.

She faced him with a start, never so young and beautiful as now--her
blue eyes wide, scornful, and blazing, her cheeks red and lips
trembling, like a child ready to cry.

"I did not want _you_" she said curtly.

"Nor did they." Pride forged the retort for him, at a blow. He explained
in the barest of terms, while she eyed him steadily, with every sign of
rising temper.

"I can spare you, too," she whipped out; then turned to walk away,
holding her helmet erect, in the poise of a young goddess, pert
but warlike.

This double injustice left Rudolph chafing. In two strides, however, he
had overtaken her.

"I am under orders," he stated grimly.

Her pace gradually slackened in the growing heat; but she went forward
with her eyes fixed on the littered, sunken flags of their path. This
rankling silence seemed to him more unaccountable and deadly than all
former mischances, and left him far more alone. From the sultry tops of
bamboos, drooping like plants in an oven, an amorous multitude of
cicadas maintained the buzzing torment of steel on emery wheels, as
though the universal heat had chafed and fretted itself into a dry,
feverish utterance. Once Mrs. Forrester looked about, quick and angry,
like one ready to choke that endless voice. But for the rest, the two
strange companions moved steadily onward.

In an alley of checkered light a buffalo with a wicker nose-ring, and
heavy, sagging horns that seemed to jerk his head back in agony, heaved
toward them, ridden by a naked yellow infant in a nest-like saddle of
green fodder. Scenting with fright the disgusting presence of white
aliens, the sleep-walking monster shied, opened his eyes, and lowered
his blue muzzle as if to charge. There was a pause, full of menace.

"Don't run!" said Rudolph, and catching the woman roughly about the
shoulders, thrust her behind him. She clutched him tightly by the
wounded arm.

The buffalo stared irresolute, with evil eyes. The naked boy in the
green nest brushed a swarm of flies from his handful of sticky
sweetmeats, looked up, pounded the clumsy shoulders, and shrilled a
command. Staring doubtfully, and trembling, the buffalo swayed past, the
wrinkled armor of his gray hide plastered with dry mud as with yellow
ochre. To the slow click of hoofs, the surly monster, guided by a little
child, went swinging down the pastoral shade,--ancient yet living shapes
from a pictur