Lahoma has never forgotten that expedition to the settlements.Along the Chisholm Trail marched Brick Willock and Bill Atkins,one full of genial philosophy,responsive to every sight and sound along the way,the other taciturn and uncompanionable,a being present in the flesh,but seemingly absent in the spirit.Behind them rode the girl,with unceasing interest in the broad hard-beaten trail--the only mark in that wilderness to tell them that others had passed that way.The men walked with deliberate but well-measured step,preserving a pace that carried them mile after mile seemingly with little weariness.Three times on the journey great herds of cattle were encountered on their way toward Kansas,and many were the looks of curiosity cast on the little girl sitting as straight as an Indian on her pony.
She was glad when a swinging cloud of dust announced the coming of thousands of steers,attended by cowboys,for it meant a glimpse into an unknown world,and the bellowing of cattle,the shouting of men and the cracking of whips stirred her blood.But she was glad,too,when the stream of life had flowed past,and she was left alone with Brick and Bill,for then the never-ending conversation with the former was resumed,picked up at the point where it had been dropped,or drawn forward from raveled bits of unfinished discourse of the day before,and though Bill Atkins said almost nothing and always looked straight ahead,he was,in a way,spice in the feast of her enjoyment.
When they stopped for their meals,they drew aside from the trail,if possible near some spring or river-bed in which pools of water lingered,but such stopping-places were far apart in the desert country.At night there was a cheerful bonfire,followed by zestful talk as they lay on the ground,before falling asleep in their tarpaulins--talk eagerly monopolized by Brick and Lahoma,and to which Atkins seemed in a manner to listen,perhaps warming his heart at the light of their comradeship even as they warmed their hands in the early morning at the breakfast fire.Atkins had brought with him one of his books,and at the noon hour's rest,and at evening beside the bonfire,he kept his nose buried in its pages.