Round and soft and gentle she seemed, yet all the lines of her figure,
all the features of her face, betokened bone and breeding. The low-cut
Indian shirt left her neck bare. I could see the brick red line of the
sunburn creeping down; but most I noted, since ever it was my delight to
trace good lineage in any creature, the splendid curve of her neck, not
long and weak, not short and animal, but round and strong--perfect, I
was willing to call that and every other thing about her.
She turned to me after a time and smiled wanly. "I am hungry," she said.
"We shall make a fire," I answered. "But first I must wait until my coat
dries. The lining is wet, and we have no tinder. The bark is wet on the
little trees; each spear of grass is wet."
Then I bethought me of an old expedient my father had once shown me. At
the bandolier across my shoulder swung my bullet pouch and powder flask,
in the former also some bits of tow along with the cleaning worm. I made
a loose wad of the tow kept thus dry in the shelter of the pouch, and
pushed this down the rifle barrel, after I had with some difficulty
discharged the load already there. Then I rubbed a little more powder
into another loose wad of tow, and fired the rifle into this.
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