“We want no doctor here,” the Indian woman repeated, rocking back and forth. “No good comes to the Indian from his white neighbors. Therefore, have I tried to keep my child away from them.”
But Eunice’s voice was heard calling inside the tent.
“Let the ladies come in, grandmother. I wish to have a talk with them.”
Sullenly the old woman moved aside and let the girls and Reginald Latham enter the wigwam.
“Little brown one,” Eunice cried, smiling at Bab, “you would be almost as brown as I am, if you lived always in the woods. Do not be so sorry that you hurt my arm. It was my fault, not yours. I should not have been in hiding. I disobeyed the commands of my grandmother. See, I am better. She will not let a white doctor look at me, perhaps, because my skin is too fair for an Indian.”
“Mr. Latham,” Bab turned to Reginald, who had not spoken. He was looking curiously at the furnishings of the wigwam, at the Indian squaw and at Eunice. He did not hear Bab.
“Mr. Latham!” Bab called more distinctly, “can’t you persuade——”
A curious guttural noise interrupted her. The old Indian woman’s eyes were blazing. She had seized a pine stick in her hand and held it over Reginald Latham’s head. “Out of my wigwam! Shall your name forever sound in my ears? Am I not safe in my own house? Out with you!”
Reginald Latham had not waited before the old woman’s wrath. He was already several yards down the hill.
The girls were thunderstruck. Why had the name of Latham fired this old squaw to such a burst of fury?