Susie leaned toward him, and her childish face was distorted with anger as she shrieked:
“Not yet, Mister Smith!”
Involuntarily, Dora and the stranger exchanged glances in the awkward silence which followed. Then, more to relieve her embarrassment than for any other reason, Ralston said quietly, “Very well, I will do as this—gentleman suggests,” and withdrew.
“Good-night,” said Dora, gathering up her books; but neither Smith nor Susie answered.
With both hands deep in his trousers’ pockets, Smith was smiling at Susie, with a smile which was little short of devilish; and the girl, throwing a last look of defiance at him, also left the room, violently slamming behind her the door of the bed-chamber occupied by her mother and herself.
For a full minute Smith stood as they had left him—motionless, his eyelids drooping. Rousing himself, he went to the window and looked into the moonlight-flooded world outside. Huddled in a blanket, a squat figure sat on a fallen cottonwood tree.
Smith eyed it, then asked himself contemptuously:
“Ain’t that pure Injun?”
Taking his hat, he too stepped into the moonlight.
The woman did not look up at his approach, so he stooped until his cheek touched hers.