cupboard, but no tremor in his voice as he went on: "You'll find tea
and coffee here, and, if you're bored, there's a book or two. You read,
don't you--I mean English?"
She nodded, but cast a look of undisguised contempt upon the two worn,
coverless novels he held out to her. "You haven't got last week's
'Sacramento Union,' have you? I hear they have my case all in; only them
lying reporters made it out against me all the time."
"I don't see the papers," he replied curtly.
"They say there's a picture of me in the 'Police Gazette,' taken in the
act," and she laughed.
He looked a little abstracted, and turned as if to go. "I think you'll
do well to rest a while just now, and keep as close hid as possible
until afternoon. The trail is a mile away at the nearest point, but
some one might miss it and stray over here. You're quite safe if you're
careful, and stand by the tree. You can build a fire here," he stepped
under the chimney-like opening, "without its being noticed. Even the
smoke is lost and cannot be seen so high."
The light from above was falling on his head and shoulders, as it had on
hers. She looked at him intently.
"You travel a good deal on your figure, pardner, don't you?" she said,
with a certain admiration that was quite sexless in its quality; "but
I don't see how you pick up a living by it in the Carquinez Woods. So
you're going, are you? You might be more sociable. Good-by."
"Good-by!" He leaped from the opening.
"I say pardner!"
He turned a little impatiently. She had knelt down at the entrance, so
as to be nearer his level, and was holding out her hand. But he did not
notice it, and she quietly withdrew it.
"If anybody dropped in and asked for you, what name will they say?"
He smiled. "Don't wait to hear."
"But suppose I wanted to sing out for you, what will I call you?"
He hesitated. "Call me--Lo."
"Lo, the poor Indian?"*
"Exactly."
* The first word of Pope's familiar apostrophe is humorously
used in the Far West as a distinguishing title for the
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