Loseis and Gault rode on. They left Tatateecha looking rather scared, but Loseis told herself that at least her speaking to him would do no harm.
“What were you talking about?” asked Gault.
“Oh, he was apologizing for the way his people behaved in the store, and I was telling him it had better not happen again,” said Loseis carelessly.
Beyond the village the land rose to a low bluff which commanded a prospect of the lake. Here they turned out their horses, and sat down in the grass to eat. After the pleasant, diversified country they had ridden through, an astonishing panorama met their eyes. The whole earth suddenly flattened out. They were upon the only bit of high ground that approached the lake. In front of them a sea of water and a sea of grass stretched to the horizon; and it was impossible to say where the one ended and the other began. On either hand in the far distance ran the bordering hills. The only thing there was in sight to break that tremendous flatness was a flock of wild swans a mile or more away, fluttering their wings in the sun.
When they had satisfied their hunger, Gault bethought himself that it was time to take a firm tone with Loseis. He said bluntly:
“Do you know, you’re a damn pretty girl.”
He prepared himself for an explosion; but Loseis surprised him again.
“Of course I know it,” she said coolly; looking at him with a slanting smile.
“How do you know it? You’ve never seen any white girls.”
“Oh, one knows such things anyhow,” she said shrugging.