When Bennington came to one of these dikes he was forced to pick his
way carefully in a detour around its base. Between times he found
hobnails much inclined to click against unforeseen stones. The broken
twig came to possess other than literary importance. After a little his
nerves asserted themselves. Unconsciously he relaxed his attention and
began to think.

The subject of his thoughts was the girl he had seen just twenty-four
hours before. He caught himself remembering little things he had not
consciously noticed at the time, as, for instance, the strange contrast
between the mischief in her eyes and the austerity of her brow, or the
queer little fashion she had of winking rapidly four or five times, and
then opening her eyes wide and looking straight into the depths of his
own. He considered it quite a coincidence that he had unconsciously
returned to the spot on which they had met the day before--the rich
Crazy Horse lode.

As though in answer to his recognition of this fact, her voice suddenly
called to him from above.

"Hullo, little boy!" it cried.

He felt at once that he was pleased at the encounter.

"Hullo!" he answered; "where are you?"

"Right here."

He looked up, and then still up, until, at the flat top of the