my face.

"Did you notice," said I, "that for miles we drove in the water--back
there on the prairie after the rain?"

"Yes."

"We drove in the water when we left the road, and we left no tracks. Not
even an Indian could track us. We can't be tracked. We've lost
Gowdy--forever."

I thought at first that she was going to throw her arms about my neck;
but instead she took both my hands and pressed them in a long clasp. It
was the first time she had touched me, or shown emotion toward
me--emotion of the sort for which I was now eagerly longing. I did not
return her pressure. I merely let her hold my hands until she dropped
them. I wanted to do a dozen things, but there is nothing stronger than
the unbroken barriers of a boy's modesty--barriers strong as steel,
which once broken down become as though they never were; while a woman
even in her virgin innocence, is always offering unconscious invitation,
always revealing ways of seeming approach, always giving to the stalled
boy, arguments against his bashfulness--arguments which may prove absurd
or not when he acts upon them. It is the way of a maid with a man,
Nature's way--but a perilous way for such a time and such a situation.

That night we sat about the tiny camp-fire and talked. She told me of
her life in Kentucky, of her grief at the loss of her sister, of many
simple things; and I told her of my farm--a mile square--of my plans,
of my life on the canal--which seemed to impress her as it had Rowena
Fewkes as a very adventurous career. I was sure she was beginning to
like me; but of one thing I did not tell her. I did not mention my long
unavailing search for my mother, nor the worn shoe and the sad farewell
letter in the little iron-bound trunk in the wagon. I searched for tales
which would make of me a man; but when it grew dark I put out the fire.
I was not afraid of Buck Gowdy's finding us; but I did not want any one
to discover us. And that night I drew out the loads of chicken shot from
my gun and reloaded it with buckshot. I could not sleep. After Virginia
had lain down in the wagon, I walked about silently so as not to rouse
her, prowling like a wolf. I crept to the side of the wagon and listened
for her breathing; and when I heard it my hands trembled, and my heart
pounded in my breast. All the things through which I had lived without
partaking of them came back into my mind. I thought of what I heard
every day on the canal--that all women were alike; t