But he was not alone. Seated
on a small mule was a little girl of five or six.
"Enoch," said Frank, "this is my daughter, Diana. She is going down
the trail with us."
Nucky gravely doffed his hat, and the little girl laughed, showing two
front teeth missing and a charming dimple.
"You've got red hair!" she cried.
Nucky grunted, and mounted his mule.
"Diana will ride directly behind me," said Frank. "You follow her,
Enoch."
"Can that kid go all the way to the river?" demanded Nucky.
"She's been there a good many times," replied Frank, looking proudly at
his little daughter.
She was not an especially pretty child, but had Nucky been a judge of
feminine charms he would have realized that Diana gave promise of a
beautiful womanhood. Her chestnut hair hung in thick curls on her
shoulders. Her eyes were large and a clear hazel. Her skin, though
tanned, was peculiarly fine in texture. But the greatest promise of
her future beauty lay in a sweetness of expression in eye and lip that
was extraordinary in so young a child. For the rest, she was thin and
straight and wore a boy's corduroy suit.
Diana feared the trail no more than Nucky feared MacDougal Street. She
was deeply interested in Nucky, turning and twisting constantly in her
saddle to look at him.
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