The tears were in Lahoma's eyes. She looked from one to the other, her little face deeply troubled. Suddenly she grabbed up her books and started toward the stove. "Then this here civilizing is going to stop," she declared.
"Lahoma!" Brick cried in dismay.
"Yes, it is—unless you promise to stay with me when I go to live in the big world."
"Honey, I'll promise you this: When you are ready to live out there, I'll sure go with you and stay with you—if you want me, when the time comes."
Lahoma seized his hand, and jumped up and down in delight.
"It's a safe promise," remarked Bill Atkins dryly.
CHAPTER IX
A YOUNG MAN'S FANCY
One evening in May, a tall lithe figure crept the southern base of the mountain range, following its curves with cautious feet as if fearful of discovery. It was a young man of twenty-one or two, bronzed, free of movement, agile of step. His face was firm, handsome and open, although at present a wish to escape observation caused the hazel eyes to dart here and there restlessly, while the mouth tightened in an aspect of sternness. This air of wild resolution was heightened by the cowboy's ordinary garments, and the cowboy's indispensable belt well-stocked with weapons.