ate
enough, though it might have been fresher. A can of beans!--worse than
tea. A can of finnan haddie came after this, and several cans that only
Bilkins could have understood. But in the end I carried a number of them
to the fire and had a general opening, arranged them in a row, and began
to cook. The chief trouble was that I did not know which should be done
thoroughly and which merely warmed up. Anyway, I emptied something,
inviting if unpronounceable, into the skillet and as it began to sizzle
it smelt really good. So I crouched lower, stirring vigorously to keep
it from scorching, and thought of the surprise it would be to her--for,
to be quite frank, it was a surprise to me!

Then a voice at my back, making me forget the sizzling stuff, the fire,
the breakfast, said with a note of extreme anxiety:

"Good morning, Jackachobee! Oughtn't Echochee be here by this time? You
don't think any thing's happened to her, do you? I can't whistle like a
plover and had to come to breakfast unannounced. I hope it's ready.
You've seen nothing of those men?"

I did not move under this rapid fire of questions and statements. To the
contrary, I lowered my head and was afraid to move; afraid to face the
rebuke, or the fear, or whatever it would be, that might naturally
follow her discovery of my deception. But more potent than this dread
was the thrill of joy I felt in knowing that she stood close behind me;
that when I turned I should see her there, face to face. Yet the very
thought of turning again started the chill of apprehension. Without
doubt she would wither me like a parched leaf for having played so silly
a part as Indian. I began vigorously to stir the stuff in my skillet
which now had stuck to the bottom and was smelling like the very old
devil. Of course, my face would have been red, anyway--leaning over the
fire as I was!

"Are you keeping anything from me?" she cried, I thought on the verge of
"nerves," so hesitating no longer I arose and turned to her.

"Oh!" she gasped, drawing back and putting one hand to her breast--while
the other, I noticed, fell mechanically to the butt of a revolver swung
to her waist. Her eyes were wide with surprise, as her lips were parted
in fear and utter wonderment. Truly, she was the incarnation of girlhood
standing at bay!

I had known her beauty; I had been astounded by it in the Havana cafe,
in my dream, in the little kodak film of Monsieur's, and last, when she
stood in her d