Waterbury evening Democrat., 1907-11-23

 D INe -- Flow Woman 1 ? By ELEANOR GATES. Author of "The Biography of Prairie Girl" COPYRIGHT MCCLURE PHILLIPS C. COMPANY

v ELEANOR CAFES,
Author of "The Biography of Prairie Girl"

He studied the farther bluff top an( its warding gun.
 Peace," he repeated after time Its a thing we're not likely to have this summer, and you folks must le' us watch out for you, no matter how much you dislike us. The Indians arc out and getting ready. They say there isn't young brave left on any of tho reservations up this way. They're al hunting-and we know what that means. They're collecting and arminG for battle. Our troops go to find them at daybreak. See" He bent forward pointing
 BelSW the stockade on level stretch showing yellow with mustard, where grain had been unshipped the year be fore, stood long, gray tented rows.
 They've moved out of barracks and gone into temporary camp
 That land man back there's moved and gone too" She waited. Then, "Are--you going?"
 He shook his head. "rm scheduled to stay. It was a disappointment, but I expected it. I've an idea B troop won't be idle though"
 Her brow knit "Indians?" she asked
 Your being on this side of the river assures you folks safety" he hastened to say. And they shan't get to you while B troops in post"
 "All the same, wish pad let Dallas take us away"
 "If Indians show up you'll all come to the fort. And I'd like that"
 "No. Pa wouldn't let us. He'd die first"
 And so maybe I shan't see you again-unless you come here some day. Do you think that you can?" He bent to see her face. The bonnet framed 1t quaintly.
 "It's-it's a nice place." she asserted.
 He held out his hand to her. 'I shall come," he said gently. But now I've got to go."
 She gave him her hand. He got to his feet still holding it and helped her to rise.
 "Goodby," she said bashfully, draw ing away.
 He freed her hand. "You don't know how glad I am that we've met" he said; you don't know. It's been pret- ty lonesome for me since I came out, and you are taste of-of the old life. You're like one of those prairie flow CTS that have escaped from the gar dens back home. You sweeten the western air, Miss Marylyn."
 She hung the COW horn to her wrist and turned away. Overhead the heart shaped leaves were trem bling to the rush of the river. Her heart trembled with them and her voice. "We ain't eastern" she said, wistful again. T was born down yonder in the mes- quite, r. She paused, glancing back at him.
 He stood as she had seen him first. His face was flushed, his uncovered hair was rumplcd. In one hand he held his rife, in the other his tasseled hat. And his eyes were eager, admir- ing. No, you're not eastern" he said; you were born down in the mesquite, but remember this, Miss Marylyn, it's the deepest woods that grow the sweet est violets."
 She went on out of the grove. He fingered to watch her. Beyond the coulee road she caught sight of some and gathering her apron into Il generous pouch started to pick a mess. Her bonnet fell of. She tied it by Il string to her braid. Then. fit ting here and there as she spied new she began an old Texas bunk house song:
 'we saw the Indians coming,
 We heard them give a yell.
 My feelings at that moment
 No mortal tongue could tell'
 Her step was light. Her cheek was pink. Her eyes were happy. The cor ners of her mouth were turned upward smilingly. About her warbled the She mingled her tune with theirs.