It was only when exposed to the milder forces of civilization that Mary had anything to fear.
Yet even then, when Patsy O'Connor's domestic goat had once tried to "sample" the lost Misery, he had retreated with the loss of three front teeth, and Thompson's mule came out of an encounter with that iron-headed prodigy with a sprained hind leg and a cut and swollen pastern.
But these were the simple Arcadian days of the road between Big Bend and Reno, and progress and prosperity, alas! brought changes in their wake.
It was already whispered that Mary ought to be going to school, and Mr.Amplach--still happily oblivious of the liberties taken with his name--as trustee of the public school at Duckville, had intimated that Mary's bohemian wanderings were a scandal to the county.

She was growing up in ignorance, a dreadful ignorance of everything but the chivalry, the deep tenderness, the delicacy and unselfishness of the rude men around her, and obliviousness of faith in anything but the immeasurable bounty of Nature toward her and her children.

Of course there was a fierce discussion between "the boys" of the road and the few married families of the settlement on this point, but, of course, progress and "snivelization"-- as the boys chose to call it--triumphed.

The projection of a railroad settled it; Robert Foulkes, promoted to a foremanship of a division of the line, was made to understand that his daughter must be educated.

But the terrible question of Mary's family remained.