ike a hundred-weight
of wildcats. I went through the water like a hell-diver, and without
quite knowing what I was doing I got hold of him and tried to garrote
him. I don't remember what I said, but I have a hazy idea it was not
the most ladylike of language. He stared at me, as I tore Dinkie away
from him, stared at me with a hard and slightly incredulous eye. For
I'm afraid I was ready to fight with my teeth and nails, if need be,
and I suppose my expression wasn't altogether angelic. We were both
shaking, at any rate, when we got back to dry land. Dinky-Dunk stood
staring at us, for a silent moment or two, with a look of black
disgust on his wet face. I'm even afraid it was something more than
disgust. Then he strode away and proceeded to dress on the other side
of the prairie-schooner, without so much as a second look at us. And
then he went off for the horses, absenting himself a quite unnecessary
length of time. But I took advantage of that to have a talk with
Dinkie.

"Dinkie," I said, "you and I are going to walk out into that water,
and this time you're not going to be afraid!"

I could see his eye searching mine, although he did not speak.

I put one hand on the wet tangle of his hair.

"Will you come?" I asked him.

He took a deep breath. Then he looked at the slough-water. Then he
looked back into my eyes.

"Yes," he said, though I noticed his lips were not so red as usual.

So side by side and hand in hand the two of us walked out into
Dead-Horse Lake. His eyes questioned me, once, as the water came up
about his armpits. But he shut his teeth tight and made no effort to
draw back. I could see the involuntary spasms of his chest as that
terrifying flood closed in about his little body, yet he was ready
enough to show me he wasn't a coward. And when I saw that he had met
and faced his ordeal I turned him about and led him quietly back to
land. We were both prouder and happier for what had just happened. We
didn't even need to talk about it, for each knew that the other
understood. What still disturbs me, though, is something not in my
boy's make-up, but in my own. During the long and silent drive home I
noticed a mark on my husband's neck. And I was the termagant who must
have put it there, though I have no memory of doing so. But from it I
realize that I haven't the control over myself every civilized and
self-respecting woman should have. I begin to see that I can't
altogether trust myself where my