“There may be friendly Indians around, and if you should shoot one of them,” she explained, “the rest might turn hostile.”
As Wichita walked toward the house Luke stood looking after her.
“I don’t reckon she’s gone loco,” he soliloquized, “but she shore better watch herself.”
It was ten o’clock before Luke Jensen returned to the ranch. He went immediately to the house and knocked on the door, entering at Wichita’s invitation.
“Your Dad back?” he demanded.
“No. Didn’t you see anything of him?”
“Nary hide nor hair.”
“Where do you suppose he can be?”
“I dunno. They’s Indians around, though. I bumped plumb into one tother side of the willows in the draw outside the fer pasture gate, an’ who do you reckon it was? Why none other than that Shoz-Dijiji fellow what give me a lift that time. He must-a thought some o’ the hosses in the pasture were comin’ through them willows, fer he never tried to hide hisself at all. I jest rid plumb on top o’ him. He knew me, too. I couldn’t help but think o’ wot you told me just before I left about bein’ sure not to shoot up any friendly. Say, did you know he was around?”
“How could I know that?” demanded Wichita.