"Oh, to go at night—at night to the Indian graves. I tried it once and got half way—"
"And was scalped all the way back, I suppose."
"I was, John. Try it yourself."
"I did, a month after I came."
"Oh! and you never told me."
"No, why should I?"
It had not had for him the quality of bodily peril. It was somehow far less alarming. He had started with fear, but was of no mind to confess. They rode on in silence, until at last she said. "I hope you won't fight that boy again."
"Oh," he said, "I didn't mind it so very much."
She was hinting that he would again be beaten. "But I minded, John. I hated it."
He would say no more. He had now had, as concerned Tom, three advisers. He kept his own counsel, with the not unusual reticence of a boy. He did not wish to be pitied on account of what he did not consider defeat, and wanted no one to discuss it. He was better pleased when a week later the English groom talked to him after the boxing-lesson. "That fellow, Tom, told me about your slapping him. He said that he didn't want to lick you if you hadn't hit him."