The Man of the Forest

  CHAPTER XI

  "I'll ride you if it breaks--my neck!" panted Bo, passionately, shakingher gloved fist at the gray pony.

  Dale stood near with a broad smile on his face. Helen was withinearshot, watching from the edge of the park, and she felt so fascinatedand frightened that she could not call out for Bo to stop. The littlegray mustang was a beauty, clean-limbed and racy, with long black maneand tail, and a fine, spirited head. There was a blanket strapped on hisback, but no saddle. Bo held the short halter that had been fastenedin a hackamore knot round his nose. She wore no coat; her blouse wascovered with grass and seeds, and it was open at the neck; her hair hungloose and disheveled; one side of her face bore a stain of grass anddirt and a suspicion of blood; the other was red and white; her eyesblazed; beads of sweat stood out on her brow and wet places shone on hercheeks. As she began to strain on the halter, pulling herself closerto the fiery pony, the outline of her slender shape stood out lithe andstrong.

  Bo had been defeated in her cherished and determined ambition to rideDale's mustang, and she was furious. The mustang did not appear to bevicious or mean. But he was spirited, tricky, mischievous, and he hadthrown her six times. The scene of Bo's defeat was at the edge of thepark, where thick moss and grass afforded soft places for her to fall.It also afforded poor foothold for the gray mustang, obviously placinghim at a disadvantage. Dale did not bridle him, because he had not beenbroken to a bridle; and though it was harder for Bo to try to ride himbareback, there was less risk of her being hurt. Bo had begun in alleagerness and enthusiasm, loving and petting the mustang, which shenamed "Pony." She had evidently anticipated an adventure, but hersmiling, resolute face had denoted confidence. Pony had stood fairlywell to be mounted, and then had pitched and tossed until Bo had slidoff or been upset or thrown. After each fall Bo bounced up with less ofa smile, and more of spirit, until now the Western passion to master ahorse had suddenly leaped to life within her. It was no longer fun, nomore a daring circus trick to scare Helen and rouse Dale's admiration.The issue now lay between Bo and the mustang.

  Pony reared, snorting, tossing his head, and pawing with front feet.

  "Pull him down!" yelled Dale.

  Bo did not have much weight, but she had strength, an she hauled withall her might, finally bringing him down.

  "Now hold hard an' take up rope an' get in to him," called Dale. "Good!You're sure not afraid of him. He sees that. Now hold him, talk to him,tell him you're goin' to ride him. Pet him a little. An' when he quitsshakin', grab his mane an' jump up an' slide a leg over him. Then hookyour feet under him, hard as you can, an' stick on."

  If Helen had not been so frightened for Bo she would have been able toenjoy her other sensations. Creeping, cold thrills chased over her asBo, supple and quick, slid an arm and a leg over Pony and straightenedup on him with a defiant cry. Pony jerked his head down, brought hisfeet together in one jump, and began to bounce. Bo got the swing of himthis time and stayed on.

  "You're ridin' him," yelled Dale. "Now squeeze hard with your knees.Crack him over the head with your rope.... That's the way. Hang on nowan' you'll have him beat."

  The mustang pitched all over the space adjacent to Dale and Helen,tearing up the moss and grass. Several times he tossed Bo high, but sheslid back to grip him again with her legs, and he could not throw her.Suddenly he raised his head and bolted. Dale answered Bo's triumphantcry. But Pony had not run fifty feet before he tripped and fell,throwing Bo far over his head. As luck would have it--good luck,Dale afterward said--she landed in a boggy place and the force of hermomentum was such that she slid several yards, face down, in wet mossand black ooze.

  Helen uttered a scream and ran forward. Bo was getting to her knees whenDale reached her. He helped her up and half led, half carried her outof the boggy place. Bo was not recognizable. From head to foot she wasdripping black ooze.

  "Oh, Bo! Are you hurt?" cried Helen.

  Evidently Bo's mouth was full of mud.

  "Pp--su--tt! Ough! Whew!" she sputtered. "Hurt? No! Can't you see what Ilit in? Dale, the sun-of-a-gun didn't throw me. He fell, and I went overhis head."

  "Right. You sure rode him. An' he tripped an' slung you a mile," repliedDale. "It's lucky you lit in that bog."

  "Lucky! With eyes and nose stopped up? Oooo! I'm full of mud. And mynice--new riding-suit!"

  Bo's tones indicated that she was ready to cry. Helen, realizing Bohad not been hurt, began to laugh. Her sister was the funniest-lookingobject that had ever come before her eyes.

  "Nell Rayner--are you--laughing--at me?" demanded Bo, in most righteousamaze and anger.

  "Me laugh-ing? N-never, Bo," replied Helen. "Can't you see I'mjust--just--"

  "See? You idiot! my eyes are full of mud!" flashed Bo. "But I hear you.I'll--I'll get even."

  Dale was laughing, too, but noiselessly, and Bo, being blind for themoment, could not be aware of that. By this time they had reached camp.Helen fell flat and laughed as she had never laughed before. When Helenforgot herself so far as to roll on the ground it was indeed a laughingmatter. Dale's big frame shook as he possessed himself of a towel and,wetting it at the spring, began to wipe the mud off Bo's face. But thatdid not serve. Bo asked to be led to the water, where she knelt and,with splashing, washed out her eyes, and then her face, and then thebedraggled strands of hair.

  "That mustang didn't break my neck, but he rooted my face in the mud.I'll fix him," she muttered, as she got up. "Please let me have thetowel, now.... Well! Milt Dale, you're laughing!"

  "Ex-cuse me, Bo. I--Haw! haw! haw!" Then Dale lurched off, holding hissides.

  Bo gazed after him and then back at Helen.

  "I suppose if I'd been kicked and smashed and killed you'd laugh," shesaid. And then she melted. "Oh, my pretty riding-suit! What a mess! Imust be a sight.... Nell, I rode that wild pony--the sun-of-a-gun! Irode him! That's enough for me. YOU try it. Laugh all you want. It wasfunny. But if you want to square yourself with me, help me clean myclothes."

  Late in the night Helen heard Dale sternly calling Pedro. She felt somelittle alarm. However, nothing happened, and she soon went to sleepagain. At the morning meal Dale explained.

  "Pedro an' Tom were uneasy last night. I think there are lions workin'over the ridge somewhere. I heard one scream."

  "Scream?" inquired Bo, with interest.

  "Yes, an' if you ever hear a lion scream you will think it a woman inmortal agony. The cougar cry, as Roy calls it, is the wildest to beheard in the woods. A wolf howls. He is sad, hungry, and wild. But acougar seems human an' dyin' an' wild. We'll saddle up an' ride overthere. Maybe Pedro will tree a lion. Bo, if he does will you shoot it?"

  "Sure," replied Bo, with her mouth full of biscuit.

  That was how they came to take a long, slow, steep ride under cover ofdense spruce. Helen liked the ride after they got on the heights. Butthey did not get to any point where she could indulge in her pleasureof gazing afar over the ranges. Dale led up and down, and finally mostlydown, until they came out within sight of sparser wooded ridges withparks lying below and streams shining in the sun.

  More than once Pedro had to be harshly called by Dale. The hound scentedgame.

  "Here's an old kill," said Dale, halting to point at some bleached bonesscattered under a spruce. Tufts of grayish-white hair lay strewn around.

  "What was it?" asked Bo.

  "Deer, of course. Killed there an' eaten by a lion. Sometime last fall.See, even the skull is split. But I could not say that the lion did it."

  Helen shuddered. She thought of the tame deer down at Dale's camp. Howbeautiful and graceful, and responsive to kindness!

  They rode out of the woods into a grassy swale with rocks and clumps ofsome green bushes bordering it. Here Pedro barked, the first time Helenhad heard him. The hair on his neck bristled, and it required sterncalls from Dale to hold him in. Dale dismounted.

  "Hyar, Pede, you get back," he ordered. "I'll let you go presently....Girls, you're goin' to see somethin'. But stay on
your horses."

  Dale, with the hound tense and bristling beside him, strode hereand there at the edge of the swale. Presently he halted on a slightelevation and beckoned for the girls to ride over.

  "Here, see where the grass is pressed down all nice an' round," he said,pointing. "A lion made that. He sneaked there, watchin' for deer. Thatwas done this mornin'. Come on, now. Let's see if we can trail him."

  Dale stooped now, studying the grass, and holding Pedro. Suddenly hestraightened up with a flash in his gray eyes.

  "Here's where he jumped."

  But Helen could not see any reason why Dale should say that. The man ofthe forest took a long stride then another.

  "An' here's where that lion lit on the back of the deer. It was a bigjump. See the sharp hoof tracks of the deer." Dale pressed aside tallgrass to show dark, rough, fresh tracks of a deer, evidently made byviolent action.

  "Come on," called Dale, walking swiftly. "You're sure goin' to seesomethin' now.... Here's where the deer bounded, carryin' the lion."

  "What!" exclaimed Bo, incredulously.

  "The deer was runnin' here with the lion on his back. I'll prove it toyou. Come on, now. Pedro, you stay with me. Girls, it's a fresh trail."Dale walked along, leading his horse, and occasionally he pointed downinto the grass. "There! See that! That's hair."

  Helen did see some tufts of grayish hair scattered on the ground, andshe believed she saw little, dark separations in the grass, where ananimal had recently passed. All at once Dale halted. When Helen reachedhim Bo was already there and they were gazing down at a wide, flattenedspace in the grass. Even Helen's inexperienced eyes could make outevidences of a struggle. Tufts of gray-white hair lay upon the crushedgrass. Helen did not need to see any more, but Dale silently pointed toa patch of blood. Then he spoke:

  "The lion brought the deer down here an' killed him. Probably broke hisneck. That deer ran a hundred yards with the lion. See, here's the trailleft where the lion dragged the deer off."

  A well-defined path showed across the swale.

  "Girls, you'll see that deer pretty quick," declared Dale, startingforward. "This work has just been done. Only a few minutes ago."

  "How can you tell?" queried Bo.

  "Look! See that grass. It has been bent down by the deer bein' draggedover it. Now it's springin' up."

  Dale's next stop was on the other side of the swale, under a spruce withlow, spreading branches. The look of Pedro quickened Helen's pulse.He was wild to give chase. Fearfully Helen looked where Dale pointed,expecting to see the lion. But she saw instead a deer lying prostratewith tongue out and sightless eyes and bloody hair.

  "Girls, that lion heard us an' left. He's not far," said Dale, as hestooped to lift the head of the deer. "Warm! Neck broken. See the lion'steeth an' claw marks.... It's a doe. Look here. Don't be squeamish,girls. This is only an hourly incident of everyday life in the forest.See where the lion has rolled the skin down as neat as I could do it,an' he'd just begun to bite in there when he heard us."

  "What murderous work, The sight sickens me!" exclaimed Helen.

  "It is nature," said Dale, simply.

  "Let's kill the lion," added Bo.

  For answer Dale took a quick turn at their saddle-girths, and then,mounting, he called to the hound. "Hunt him up, Pedro."

  Like a shot the hound was off.

  "Ride in my tracks an' keep close to me," called Dale, as he wheeled hishorse.

  "We're off!" squealed Bo, in wild delight, and she made her mountplunge.

  Helen urged her horse after them and they broke across a corner of theswale to the woods. Pedro was running straight, with his nose high.He let out one short bark. He headed into the woods, with Dale not farbehind. Helen was on one of Dale's best horses, but that fact scarcelymanifested itself, because the others began to increase their lead. Theyentered the woods. It was open, and fairly good going. Bo's horse ran asfast in the woods as he did in the open. That frightened Helen and sheyelled to Bo to hold him in. She yelled to deaf ears. That was Bo'sgreat risk--she did not intend to be careful. Suddenly the forest rangwith Dale's encouraging yell, meant to aid the girls in following him.Helen's horse caught the spirit of the chase. He gained somewhat onBo, hurdling logs, sometimes two at once. Helen's blood leaped with astrange excitement, utterly unfamiliar and as utterly resistless. Yether natural fear, and the intelligence that reckoned with the foolishrisk of this ride, shared alike in her sum of sensations. She tried toremember Dale's caution about dodging branches and snags, and slidingher knees back to avoid knocks from trees. She barely missed somefrightful reaching branches. She received a hard knock, then another,that unseated her, but frantically she held on and slid back, and at theend of a long run through comparatively open forest she got a stingingblow in the face from a far-spreading branch of pine. Bo missed, by whatseemed only an inch, a solid snag that would have broken her in two.Both Pedro and Dale got out of Helen's sight. Then Helen, as she beganto lose Bo, felt that she would rather run greater risks than be leftbehind to get lost in the forest, and she urged her horse. Dale's yellpealed back. Then it seemed even more thrilling to follow by sound thanby sight. Wind and brush tore at her. The air was heavily pungent withodor of pine. Helen heard a wild, full bay of the hound, ringing back,full of savage eagerness, and she believed Pedro had roused out the lionfrom some covert. It lent more stir to her blood and it surely urged herhorse on faster.

  Then the swift pace slackened. A windfall of timber delayed Helen. Shecaught a glimpse of Dale far ahead, climbing a slope. The forest seemedfull of his ringing yell. Helen strangely wished for level ground andthe former swift motion. Next she saw Bo working down to the right, andDale's yell now came from that direction. Helen followed, got out of thetimber, and made better time on a gradual slope down to another park.

  When she reached the open she saw Bo almost across this narrow openground. Here Helen did not need to urge her mount. He snorted andplunged at the level and he got to going so fast that Helen wouldhave screamed aloud in mingled fear and delight if she had not beenbreathless.

  Her horse had the bad luck to cross soft ground. He went to his kneesand Helen sailed out of the saddle over his head. Soft willows and wetgrass broke her fall. She was surprised to find herself unhurt. Up shebounded and certainly did not know this new Helen Rayner. Her horse wascoming, and he had patience with her, but he wanted to hurry. Helen madethe quickest mount of her experience and somehow felt a pride in it.She would tell Bo that. But just then Bo flashed into the woods out ofsight. Helen fairly charged into that green foliage, breaking brush andbranches. She broke through into open forest. Bo was inside, riding downan aisle between pines and spruces. At that juncture Helen heard Dale'smelodious yell near at hand. Coming into still more open forest, withrocks here and there, she saw Dale dismounted under a pine, and Pedrostanding with fore paws upon the tree-trunk, and then high up on abranch a huge tawny colored lion, just like Tom.

  Bo's horse slowed up and showed fear, but he kept on as far as Dale'shorse. But Helen's refused to go any nearer. She had difficulty inhalting him. Presently she dismounted and, throwing her bridle over astump, she ran on, panting and fearful, yet tingling all over, up to hersister and Dale.

  "Nell, you did pretty good for a tenderfoot," was Bo's greeting.

  "It was a fine chase," said Dale. "You both rode well. I wish you couldhave seen the lion on the ground. He bounded--great long bounds withhis tail up in the air--very funny. An' Pedro almost caught up with him.That scared me, because he would have killed the hound. Pedro was closeto him when he treed. An' there he is--the yellow deer-killer. He's amale an' full grown."

  With that Dale pulled his rifle from its saddle-sheath and lookedexpectantly at Bo. But she was gazing with great interest and admirationup at the lion.

  "Isn't he just beautiful?" she burst out. "Oh, look at him spit! Justlike a cat! Dale, he looks afraid he might fall off."

  "He sure does. Lions are never sure of their balance in a tree. But Inever saw one
make a misstep. He knows he doesn't belong there."

  To Helen the lion looked splendid perched up there. He was long andround and graceful and tawny. His tongue hung out and his plump sidesheaved, showing what a quick, hard run he had been driven to. Whatstruck Helen most forcibly about him was something in his face as helooked down at the hound. He was scared. He realized his peril. It wasnot possible for Helen to watch him killed, yet she could not bringherself to beg Bo not to shoot. Helen confessed she was a tenderfoot.

  "Get down, Bo, an' let's see how good a shot you are, said Dale. Boslowly withdrew her fascinated gaze from the lion and looked with arueful smile at Dale.

  "I've changed my mind. I said I would kill him, but now I can't. Helooks so--so different from what I'd imagined."

  Dale's answer was a rare smile of understanding and approval that warmedHelen's heart toward him. All the same, he was amused. Sheathing thegun, he mounted his horse.

  "Come on, Pedro," he called. "Come, I tell you," he added, sharply,"Well, girls, we treed him, anyhow, an' it was fun. Now we'll ride backto the deer he killed an' pack a haunch to camp for our own use."

  "Will the lion go back to his--his kill, I think you called it?" askedBo.

  "I've chased one away from his kill half a dozen times. Lions are notplentiful here an' they don't get overfed. I reckon the balance ispretty even."

  This last remark made Helen inquisitive. And as they slowly rode on theback-trail Dale talked.

  "You girls, bein' tender-hearted an' not knowin' the life of the forest,what's good an' what's bad, think it was a pity the poor deer waskilled by a murderous lion. But you're wrong. As I told you, the lion isabsolutely necessary to the health an' joy of wild life--or deer's wildlife, so to speak. When deer were created or came into existence,then the lion must have come, too. They can't live without each other.Wolves, now, are not particularly deer-killers. They live off elk an'anythin' they can catch. So will lions, for that matter. But I meanlions follow the deer to an' fro from winter to summer feedin'-grounds.Where there's no deer you will find no lions. Well, now, if left alonedeer would multiply very fast. In a few years there would be hundredswhere now there's only one. An' in time, as the generations passed,they'd lose the fear, the alertness, the speed an' strength, theeternal vigilance that is love of life--they'd lose that an' beginto deteriorate, an' disease would carry them off. I saw one season ofblack-tongue among deer. It killed them off, an' I believe that is oneof the diseases of over-production. The lions, now, are forever on thetrail of the deer. They have learned. Wariness is an instinct born inthe fawn. It makes him keen, quick, active, fearful, an' so he grows upstrong an' healthy to become the smooth, sleek, beautiful, soft-eyed,an' wild-lookin' deer you girls love to watch. But if it wasn't forthe lions, the deer would not thrive. Only the strongest an' swiftestsurvive. That is the meanin' of nature. There is always a perfectbalance kept by nature. It may vary in different years, but on thewhole, in the long years, it averages an even balance."

  "How wonderfully you put it!" exclaimed Bo, with all her impulsiveness."Oh, I'm glad I didn't kill the lion."

  "What you say somehow hurts me," said Helen, wistfully, to the hunter."I see--I feel how true--how inevitable it is. But it changes my--myfeelings. Almost I'd rather not acquire such knowledge as yours. Thisbalance of nature--how tragic--how sad!"

  "But why?" asked Dale. "You love birds, an' birds are the greatestkillers in the forest."

  "Don't tell me that--don't prove it," implored Helen. "It is not so muchthe love of life in a deer or any creature, and the terrible clinging tolife, that gives me distress. It is suffering. I can't bear to see pain.I can STAND pain myself, but I can't BEAR to see or think of it."

  "Well," replied. Dale, thoughtfully, "There you stump me again. I'velived long in the forest an' when a man's alone he does a heap ofthinkin'. An' always I couldn't understand a reason or a meanin'for pain. Of all the bafflin' things of life, that is the hardest tounderstand an' to forgive--pain!"

  That evening, as they sat in restful places round the camp-fire, withthe still twilight fading into night, Dale seriously asked the girlswhat the day's chase had meant to them. His manner of asking wasproductive of thought. Both girls were silent for a moment.

  "Glorious!" was Bo's brief and eloquent reply.

  "Why?" asked. Dale, curiously. "You are a girl. You've been used tohome, people, love, comfort, safety, quiet."

  "Maybe that is just why it was glorious," said Bo, earnestly. "I canhardly explain. I loved the motion of the horse, the feel of wind inmy face, the smell of the pine, the sight of slope and forest glade andwindfall and rocks, and the black shade under the spruces. My bloodbeat and burned. My teeth clicked. My nerves all quivered. My heartsometimes, at dangerous moments, almost choked me, and all the time itpounded hard. Now my skin was hot and then it was cold. But I think thebest of that chase for me was that I was on a fast horse, guiding him,controlling him. He was alive. Oh, how I felt his running!"

  "Well, what you say is as natural to me as if I felt it," said Dale. "Iwondered. You're certainly full of fire, An', Helen, what do you say?"

  "Bo has answered you with her feelings," replied Helen, "I could not dothat and be honest. The fact that Bo wouldn't shoot the lion after wetreed him acquits her. Nevertheless, her answer is purely physical. Youknow, Mr. Dale, how you talk about the physical. I should say my sisterwas just a young, wild, highly sensitive, hot-blooded female of thespecies. She exulted in that chase as an Indian. Her sensations wereinherited ones--certainly not acquired by education. Bo always hatedstudy. The ride was a revelation to me. I had a good many of Bo'sfeelings--though not so strong. But over against them was the oppositionof reason, of consciousness. A new-born side of my nature confronted me,strange, surprising, violent, irresistible. It was as if another side ofmy personality suddenly said: 'Here I am. Reckon with me now!' And therewas no use for the moment to oppose that strange side. I--the thinkingHelen Rayner, was powerless. Oh yes, I had such thoughts even when thebranches were stinging my face and I was thrilling to the bay of thehound. Once my horse fell and threw me.... You needn't look alarmed.It was fine. I went into a soft place and was unhurt. But when I wassailing through the air a thought flashed: this is the end of me! It waslike a dream when you are falling dreadfully. Much of what I felt andthought on that chase must have been because of what I have studied andread and taught. The reality of it, the action and flash, were splendid.But fear of danger, pity for the chased lion, consciousness of foolishrisk, of a reckless disregard for the serious responsibility I havetaken--all these worked in my mind and held back what might have been asheer physical, primitive joy of the wild moment."

  Dale listened intently, and after Helen had finished he studied the fireand thoughtfully poked the red embers with his stick. His face was stilland serene, untroubled and unlined, but to Helen his eyes seemed sad,pensive, expressive of an unsatisfied yearning and wonder. She hadcarefully and earnestly spoken, because she was very curious to hearwhat he might say.

  "I understand you," he replied, presently. "An' I'm sure surprised thatI can. I've read my books--an' reread them, but no one ever talked likethat to me. What I make of it is this. You've the same blood in youthat's in Bo. An' blood is stronger than brain. Remember that blood islife. It would be good for you to have it run an' beat an' burn, asBo's did. Your blood did that a thousand years or ten thousand beforeintellect was born in your ancestors. Instinct may not be greater thanreason, but it's a million years older. Don't fight your instincts sohard. If they were not good the God of Creation would not have giventhem to you. To-day your mind was full of self-restraint that did notaltogether restrain. You couldn't forget yourself. You couldn't FEELonly, as Bo did. You couldn't be true to your real nature."

  "I don't agree with you," replied Helen, quickly. "I don't have to be anIndian to be true to myself."

  "Why, yes you do," said Dale.

  "But I couldn't be an Indian," declared Helen, spiritedly. "I couldn'tFEEL only, as you say B
o did. I couldn't go back in the scale, as youhint. What would all my education amount to--though goodness knows it'slittle enough--if I had no control over primitive feelings that happenedto be born in me?"

  "You'll have little or no control over them when the right time comes,"replied Dale. "Your sheltered life an' education have led you away fromnatural instincts. But they're in you an' you'll learn the proof of thatout here."

  "No. Not if I lived a hundred years in the West," asserted Helen.

  "But, child, do you know what you're talkin' about?"

  Here Bo let out a blissful peal of laughter.

  "Mr. Dale!" exclaimed Helen, almost affronted. She was stirred. "I knowMYSELF, at least."

  "But you do not. You've no idea of yourself. You've education, yes, butnot in nature an' life. An' after all, they are the real things. Answerme, now--honestly, will you?"

  "Certainly, if I can. Some of your questions are hard to answer."

  "Have you ever been starved?" he asked.

  "No," replied Helen.

  "Have you ever been lost away from home?"

  "No."

  "Have you ever faced death--real stark an' naked death, close an'terrible?"

  "No, indeed."

  "Have you ever wanted to kill any one with your bare hands?"

  "Oh, Mr. Dale, you--you amaze me. No!... No!"

  "I reckon I know your answer to my last question, but I'll ask it,anyhow.... Have you ever been so madly in love with a man that you couldnot live without him?"

  Bo fell off her seat with a high, trilling laugh. "Oh, you two aregreat!"

  "Thank Heaven, I haven't been," replied Helen, shortly.

  "Then you don't know anythin' about life," declared Dale, with finality.

  Helen was not to be put down by that, dubious and troubled as it madeher.

  "Have you experienced all those things?" she queried, stubbornly.

  "All but the last one. Love never came my way. How could it? I livealone. I seldom go to the villages where there are girls. No girl wouldever care for me. I have nothin'.... But, all the same, I understandlove a little, just by comparison with strong feelin's I've lived."

  Helen watched the hunter and marveled at his simplicity. His sad andpenetrating gaze was on the fire, as if in its white heart to read thesecret denied him. He had said that no girl would ever love him. Sheimagined he might know considerably less about the nature of girls thanof the forest.

  "To come back to myself," said Helen, wanting to continue the argument."You declared I didn't know myself. That I would have no self-control. Iwill!"

  "I meant the big things of life," he said, patiently.

  "What things?"

  "I told you. By askin' what had never happened to you I learned whatwill happen."

  "Those experiences to come to ME!" breathed Helen, incredulously."Never!"

  "Sister Nell, they sure will--particularly the last-named one--the madlove," chimed in Bo, mischievously, yet believingly.

  Neither Dale nor Helen appeared to hear her interruption.

  "Let me put it simpler," began Dale, evidently racking his brain foranalogy. His perplexity appeared painful to him, because he had a greatfaith, a great conviction that he could not make clear. "Here I am,the natural physical man, livin' in the wilds. An' here you come, thecomplex, intellectual woman. Remember, for my argument's sake, thatyou're here. An' suppose circumstances forced you to stay here. You'dfight the elements with me an' work with me to sustain life. Theremust be a great change in either you or me, accordin' to the other'sinfluence. An' can't you see that change must come in you, not becauseof anythin' superior in me--I'm really inferior to you--but because ofour environment? You'd lose your complexity. An' in years to come you'dbe a natural physical woman, because you'd live through an' by thephysical."

  "Oh dear, will not education be of help to the Western woman?" queriedHelen, almost in despair.

  "Sure it will," answered Dale, promptly. "What the West needs is womenwho can raise an' teach children. But you don't understand me. You don'tget under your skin. I reckon I can't make you see my argument as I feelit. You take my word for this, though. Sooner or later you WILL wake upan' forget yourself. Remember."

  "Nell, I'll bet you do, too," said Bo, seriously for her. "It may seemstrange to you, but I understand Dale. I feel what he means. It's a sortof shock. Nell, we're not what we seem. We're not what we fondly imaginewe are. We've lived too long with people--too far away from the earth.You know the Bible says something like this: 'Dust thou art and to dustthou shalt return.' Where DO we come from?"