“It’s mighty good of you, but we don’t want to impose on any one,” he said stiffly. “If he can stay for a day or two, I can get out to Needles and bring up a boat of some kind. It’s the only thing I can think of—but I can make it in a couple of days.”
The other turned and regarded him much as Nevada had first done, with a mixture of defiance and pride. His jaw squared, the lines beside his mouth grew more bitter.
“We may be breeds—but we aren’t brutes,” he said harshly. “You’ll stay where you are and take care of your partner. The burden of nursing him can’t fall on the women.” He stopped and seemed debating something within himself. “We’ve no reason to open our arms to outsiders,” he added finally. “If folks let us alone, we let them alone—and glad to do it. Father’s touchy about having strangers in camp. But all rules must be broken once, they say.”
“I think you’re over-sensitive,” Rawley told him bluntly. “You’re self-conscious over something no one else would think of twice. It’s—”
“Oh, I know. You needn’t say it. Sounds pretty, but it isn’t worth a damn when you try to put it in practice. Well, let it drop. I’ll send over some medicine to keep his fever down, and the rest is pretty much up to nature and the care you give him. It’s cool here—that’s a great deal.”
“We’ll be turning out your niece, though, I’m afraid. I can’t do that.” For the first time Rawley was keenly conscious of the incongruity of his surroundings. Here in a settlement of Indians (he could scarcely put it more mildly, with the dogs and the frowsy papooses and the two squaws for evidence) one little oasis of civilized furnishings spoke eloquently of the white blood warring against the red. The room was furnished cheaply, it is true, and much of the furniture was homemade; but for all its simplicity there was not one false note anywhere, not one tawdry adornment. It was like the girl herself,—simple, clean-cut, dignified.
“My niece won’t mind. I shall give her my own dugout, which is as comfortable as this. I can find plenty of room to stretch out. Hard work makes a soft bed.” He smiled briefly. Again Rawley was struck with a sense of familiarity, of having known Uncle Peter somewhere before.
But before he could put the question the man was gone, and Johnny Buffalo was looking at him gravely. But he did not speak, and presently his eyes closed. After that, the medicine was handed in by a bashful, beady-eyed boy who showed white teeth and scudded away, kicking up hot dust with his bare feet as he ran.
After all, what did it matter? A chance meeting in some near-by town and afterwards forgetfulness. Uncle Peter evidently did not remember him, so the meeting must have been brief and unimportant.