Roger nodded. "Guess I'll try him on that angle." He clambered out of the well and squatted by Qui-tha on the ever-increasing pile of sand and stone by the well edge.
"Do you see that white girl up there in the field, driving the horse?" pointing over the lifting desert to the distant figure, difficult to see now as the sun sank.
"Yes," replied the Indian.
"Won't you go up and help so the girl can go back to the house and do a woman's work?"
The Indian puffed thoughtfully at his cigarette. "Why?" he asked, finally.
"Because they need help. They'll pay you."
"Would you go help Indian squaw so she no have do hard work?" queried the Indian.
Roger scratched his head.
"Charley Preble, she heap strong, like a man. Work no hurt her. No hurt Injun squaw. Let 'em work."
Roger had nothing more to say. But the fact that Charley worked so hard bothered both men, though Ernest, with his unconsciously German attitude toward women, was much less troubled about the matter than Roger. Roger, for all his neglect of the gentler sex for the past few years, had that attitude toward women, half of tenderness, half of good fellowship, that is characteristic of the best American men. And although he laughed at Ernest's sentimental mooning about Charley, he really was more concerned over the girl's hard life than was his friend.