about a mile, Kate said, "Where are we going, paw?"
"To—I can't call the name to mind, daughter."
"Bin—Binecia," she answered, stumbling over the syllables. "I wish we'd hurry up and get there."
"Stop it, Kate," John said. "We will."
In the afternoon Kate said, "I wish we'd pass some houses.” Later, when it was almost sunset, she turned to her brother. "Do you know what's going to happen, John?" she asked.
"What?" he replied. It was the first word he had spoken to her since early morning.
"It's going to get dark. And then we'll stop and we'll be back by the Indians. Back by the ashes of our fire. Back where we spent last night." She began to cry.
"No. You're crazy. We must be almost to Venita."
"Venita? We’ll never get there. We'll just keep driving, driving, driving. Something's gone wrong with time."
"Be quiet, damn you. I hear horses, voices." He laid his hand over her mouth.
Old Man Bender had stopped the wagon. "Something ahead," he said softly. "You two go look."
They stole forward, tiptoeing. "I can't see good," Kate whispered.
"Hush. It’s men with horses. They're bending over something. But I can't see what they're doing. There’s a mist."
Kate had turned away. "Let's go back to the wagon," she whispered.
"Why? I want to know what they're doing."
"Oh, I know already."
"Then tell me."
"You know without telling. What they're bending over—"
"Is us. Is our bodies. No! No! I won't have it!"
She was wringing her hands and wailing. "Oh, but it is! Last night—last night the Indians didn't let us get away," said Professor Kate.
My Timid Soul
By PAGE COOPER
DEMONS sit on the rim of day
Honing their claws for my timid soul,
Wetting their lips in their lust to flay,
Their black lips flecked with a bitter whey,
As they gurgle a grim and raucous lay.
Quaking, my pallid soul looks out.
Safe in my heart—the puny mole!
Rattling his wings he squeaks a shout.
On frightened pinions he dares to flout
The slavering demons roundabout.
