She hurried out to the kitchen, talking as she moved about, and came in with coffee and a plate of oatmeal cookies.
"I am so glad you are going to live here," she told us. "Neighbors within a mile and a half! I won't feel so much alone with neighbors close by to chat with."
We hadn't the courage to tell her that we weren't going to stay.
"You must have found the shack dirty," she said, with a glance at her spotless house. "A bachelor homesteader had it and they are always the worst. They wait until the floor is thick with dirt and grease and then spread newspapers over it to cover up the dirt. You'll have a time getting it fixed as you want it."
We wondered how anyone made a home of a tar-paper shack. To hear Mrs. Dunn's casual remarks, one would think it no more of a problem than redecorating a city home.
As we started on the trek back, she called after us, "Huey will haul you over a keg of water tomorrow."
As soon as we were out of earshot I said, "We can hire Mr. Dunn to take us back to Pierre."
"That's an idea," Ida Mary agreed.
By the time we had walked back the mile and a half—which seemed five in the scorching heat—it was past noon and we were completely exhausted. So we did not get started back to Pierre that day. But we felt a little easier. There was a way to get out.