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But when Separ had dwindled to toys behind us in the journeying stage I told Miss Jessamine, and although she laughed too, it was with a note that young Texas would have liked to hear; and she hoped she might see him upon her return, to thank him.

“Any Jack can walk around all night,” said Mr. McLean, disparagingly.

“Well, then, and I know a Jack who didn’t,” observed the young lady.

This speech caused her admirer to be full of explanations; so that when she saw how readily she could perplex him, and yet how capable and untiring he was about her comfort, helping her out or tucking her in at the stations where we had a meal or changed horses, she enjoyed the hours very much, in spite of their growing awkwardness.

But oh, the sparkling, unbashful Lin! Sometimes he sat himself beside her to be close, and then he would move opposite, the better to behold her.

Never, except once long after (when sorrow manfully borne had still further refined his clay), have I heard Lin’s voice or seen his look so winning. No doubt many a male bird cares nothing what neighbor bird overhears his spring song from the top of the open tree, but I extremely doubt if his lady-love, even if she be a frank, bouncing robin, does not prefer to listen from some thicket, and not upon the public lawn. Jessamine grew silent and almost peevish; and from discourse upon man and woman she hopped, she skipped, she flew. When Lin looked at his watch and counted the diminished hours between her and Buffalo, she smiled to herself; but from mention of her brother she shrank, glancing swiftly at me and my well-assumed slumber.

And it was with indignation and self-pity that I climbed out in the hot sun at last beside the driver and small Billy.

“I know this road,” piped Billy, on the box

“‘I camped here with father when mother was off that time. You can take a left-hand trail by those cottonwoods and strike the mountains.”

So I inquired what game he had then shot.

“Ah, just a sage-hen. Lin’s a-going to let me shoot a bear, you know. What made Lin marry mother when father was around?”

The driver gave me a look over Billy’s head, and I gave him one; and I instructed Billy that people supposed his father was dead. I withheld that his mother gave herself out as Miss Peck in the days when Lin met her on Bear Creek.

The formidable nine-year-old pondered. “The geography says they used to have a lot of wives at Salt Lake City. Is there a place where a woman can have a lot of husbands?”

“It don’t especially depend on the place,” remarked the driver to me.

“Because,” Billy went on, “Bert Taylor told me in recess that mother’d had a lot, and I told him he lied, and the other boys they laughed and I blacked Bert’s eye on him, and I’d have blacked the others too, only Miss Wood came out. I wouldn’t tell her what Bert said, and Bert wouldn’t, and Sophy Armstrong told her. Bert’s father found out, and he come round, and I thought he was a-going to lick me about the eye, and he licked Bert! Say, am I Lin’s, honest?”

“No, Billy, you’re not,” I said.

“Wish I was. They couldn’t get me back to Laramie then; but, oh, bother! I’d not go for ’em! I’d like to see ’em try! Lin wouldn’t leave me go. You ain’t married, are you? No more is Lin now, I guess. A good many are, but I wouldn’t want to. I don’t think anything of ’em. I’ve seen mother take ‘pothecary stuff on the sly. She’s whaled me worse than Lin ever does. I guess he wouldn’t want to be mother’s husband again, and if he does,” said Billy, his voice suddenly vindictive, “I’ll quit him and skip.”

“No danger, Bill,” said I.