Willock surveyed the seated figure gravely.He reads!he responded.The man looked up,saw Willock and bent over his book--discovered.
Lahoma on the pony,and looked up again,unwillingly but definitely.You never told me you had a little girl,he remarked gruffly.
You never asked me,said Willock.Get down,Lahoma,and make yourself at home.
The man shut his book.What are you going to do?
Going to visit you.Turn the pony loose,Lahoma;he won't go far.Haven't you got all that north range to yourself?Bill Atkins asked begrudgingly.
Yap.How're you making it,Atkins?
Why,as long as I'm let alone,I'm making it all right.It's being let alone that I can't ever accomplish.When I was a boy I began my travels to keep out where I could breathe,and I've been crowded out of Missouri and Kansas and Colorado and Wyoming and California,and now I've come to the American Desert thinking I could die in peace,but oh,no,not ME!I no sooner get settled and made my turf dugout,than here comes a stranger--
Name of Brick Willock,if you've forgot,interpolated Willock genially.I'll just light my pipe,as I reckon there's no objections.Lahoma don't care,and you can breathe all right if you keep with the wind from you.
The man turned his back upon Willock,opened his book and read.Lahoma approached the block of wood that supported him,while
Willock calmly stretched himself out on the grass.Is that a book?she asked,by way of opening up the conversation.
The man gripped it tighter and moved his lips busily.As she remained at his knee,he presently said,Oh,no,it's a hand-organ!
Lahoma smiled pityingly.Are you afraid of me,Atkins?
The man looked up with open mouth.Not exactly,kid!There was something in her face that made him lose interest in his book.He kept looking at her.
Then why don't you tell the truth?WE won't hurt you.