She sat cross-legged by the hearth in her old place during the evenings with her chin resting on one hand and her eyes fixed wistfully upon the fire; and sometimes they found her on the little hillock behind the house, from the top of which she could view every approach to the cabin.

Of Dan and even of Black Bart, her playmate she soon learned not to speak, for the mention of them made her mother shrink and whiten.

Indeed, the saddest thing in that house was the quiet in which the child waited, waited, waited, and never spoke.
"She ain't more'n a baby," said Buck Daniels, "and you can leave it to time to make her forget." "But," growled Lee Haines, "Kate isn't a baby.

Buck, it drives me damn near crazy to see her fade this way." "Now you lay to this," answered Buck.

"She'll pull through.