But when the team went forward, nervously
unmanageable at first, then more decorous as they drew away from him
who would never feed them brown sugar again, the man beside her only
persisted vacantly with his topic.
"Big Louie never could find his way alone," he mused, "and that is
strange, too, for he was born in these hills. He was always getting
lost----" And with that he must not desert Louie! She had even more
trouble with him this time. "He will lose his head," he expostulated
mildly--his old, unfailing attitude of gentleness toward her. "He will
lose his head and waste his strength in running from things which do
not exist."
"Big Louie will find his way this time." She was whimpering again in
her helplessness. "He is--already home."
There she learned that her voice could control him when her arms
availed not at all against even his dead weight. And so she talked as
steadily as she was able while she drove. Once he lurched against her;
when he pulled himself together he was so sanely apologetic of a sudden
that she searched his face with hungry eyes. But he was talking now to
himself.
"I must not touch her!" he stated firmly. And then, drearily: "I am
sick. . . . I have never been so sick--before."
With that he subsided, but his silence was far more dreadful than his
wanderings had been; and as fast as she dared she pushed the heavy team
on, with Ragtime following behind like a dog.
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