“Oh, Ruthie, forgive me! But I had to tell you at once. There’s a strange woman about the camp. Miss Cullam and I both saw her.”
“A strange woman!” repeated Ruth. “I’m sure Miss Cullam didn’t send you hotfoot to tell me.”
“No-o. But I had to tell you—I just had to,” Helen declared. “Don’t be mean, Ruthie. Do take an interest in something besides your old movie picture.”
“Why, I am interested,” admitted Ruth. “But who is this strange woman?”
“Goodness!” exclaimed Helen. “That’s just what’s the matter. We don’t know. We didn’t see her face. She had a big shawl—or a Navajo blanket—around her.”
“An Indian squaw!” exclaimed Rebecca who could not help hearing. “I’d like to see one myself.”
“We-ell, maybe she was an Indian squaw,” admitted Helen, slowly. “But why did she run from us?”
“Afraid of you,” chuckled Ruth. “I expect to the eyes of the untutored savage you and Miss Cullam looked perfectly awful.”
“Now, Ruth!”
“But why bring your conundrums to me—just when I am busiest, too?”