"Very old and dingy-looking, but I'll put it on and wear it," she decided.
A few minutes later, when they had arranged the small, barren room somewhat more comfortably, Hope Hathaway, attired in her dress of Indian make, joined the Harris girls at their frugal meal. Her dark hair was parted in the center and hung in two long braids down her back. That, combined with the beaded dress, fringed properly, her black eyes, and quiet expressionless face, made a very picturesque representation of an Indian girl. Truly she was one of them. The breed girls must have thought something of the same, for they became at their ease, talking very much as girls talk the world over. There were three of them between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, and Hope soon found herself well entertained and almost contented. The loneliness soon wore away, and before realizing it she began to feel at home—almost one of them, true to her spirit of adaptability. But yet for her supper she ate only two hard boiled eggs.
After the meal the breed girls walked with her down to the spring-house where the milk and butter was kept. From underneath the small log building a large spring crept lazily out, spreading itself as it went into a miniature lake which lay between the house buildings and the stables. It was the only thing on the ranch worthy of notice, and, in a country barren of water excepting in the form of narrow winding creeks, it was pleasing to the eye.
The men and boys had disappeared, the younger children were with their mother, and even the pigs had drowsily gone to their sleeping quarters. The place seemed strangely quiet after its recent noise and commotion.
Finally the girls returned to the house to help with the small children, while in the deepening twilight Hope remained alone beside the lake. The water into which she looked and dreamed was shallow, but the deepening shadows concealed that fact. To her fancy it might have been bottomless. Someone rode up on horseback, but she paid no attention until a pleasant voice close beside her startled her from her reverie.
"Can I trouble you for a drink of that water, please? I have often wished for one as I rode past; it looks so clear and cold." She bowed her head in assent, and, bringing a cup from the spring-house, stooped and filled it for him. He thanked her and drank the water eagerly.
"It is good, just as I thought, and cold as ice," he said; then, noticing the girl more closely, continued: "I have been talking with your father over there at the corral, and am returning home."
"With my father," emphasized the girl. The young man noted with wonderment the richness of her voice, the soft, alluring grace of every movement. Someone had jokingly told him before he left his old-country home that he would bring back an Indian wife, as one of historical fame had done centuries before. He laughed heartily at the time—he smiled now, but thought of it. He thought of it again many times that evening and cursed himself for such folly. Perhaps there was Indian medicine in the cup she gave him, or perhaps he looked an instant too long into those dark, unfathomable eyes. He found himself explaining:
"Yes; your father has agreed to sell me that team I have been wanting. I am coming back for the horses to-morrow."
"My father," she began again. "Oh, yes, of course. I thought——Would you like another drink of the water?"