“I know,” she agreed; but there was a resentful tone in her voice. “And I guess I’ll never trouble you to do squaw’s work for you again.”
She looked squaw-like, but for her brown, curly hair, for she still wore the dress Overton had presented to her at the Kootenai village; and very becoming it was with its fancy fringes and dots of yellow, green, and black beads. Only the hat was a civilized affair—the work of Mrs. Huzzard, and was a wide, pretty “flat” of brown straw, while from its crown some bunches of yellow rosebuds nodded—the very last “artificial” blossoms left of Sinna Ferry’s first millinery store. The young face looked very piquant above the beaded collar; not so pinched or worn a face as when the men had first seen her. The one 93 week of sheltered content had given her cheeks a fullness and color remarkable. She was prettier than either man had imagined she would be. But it was not a joyous, girlish face even yet. There was too much of something like suspicion in it, a certain watchful attention given to the people with whom she came in contact; and this did not seem to abate in the least. Overton had noticed it, and decided that first night that she must have been treated badly by people to have distrust come so readily to her. He noticed, also, that any honest show of kindness soon won her over; and that to Lyster, with his graceful little attentions and his amused interest, she turned from the first hour of their acquaintance as to some chum who was in the very inner circle of those to whom her favor was extended. Overton, hearing their wordy wars and noting their many remarks of friendship, felt old, as though their light enjoyment of little things made him realize the weight of his own years, for he could no longer laugh with them.
Looking down now at the clouded young face under the hat, he felt remorsefully like a “kill-joy;” for she had been cheery enough until she caught sight of him.
“And you will never do squaw work for me again, little squaw?” Dan questioned, banteringly. “Not even if I asked you?”
“You never will ask me,” she answered, promptly.
“Well, then, not even if I should get sick and need a nurse?”
“You!” and she surveyed him from head to foot with pronounced unbelief. “You’ll never be sick. You’re strong as a mountain lion, or an old king buffalo.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, and smiled slightly at the dubious 94 compliment. “But you know even the old king buffaloes die sometime.”
“Die? Oh, yes, in a fight, or something of that sort; but they don’t need much medicine!”
“And even if you did,” said Lyster, addressing Overton, “I’m going to give you fair warning you can’t depend on ’Tana, unless you mend your ways. She threatened to-day to leave us, if you allow the shadow of your anger to fall on her again. So take heed, or she will swim back to Akkomi.”