She was twisting her fingers in a nervous way, and, as he watched her, he noticed that her little brown hands were devoid of all ornament.
“Where is the ring?” he asked. “Have you lost it already?”
“No, it’s here—in my pocket,” and she drew it out that he might see. “I—I took it off this morning when I saw you were shot. You’ll laugh, I suppose; but I thought the snakes brought bad luck.”
“So you are superstitious?”
“Oh, I don’t know! I’m not afraid very often; but sometimes I think there are signs that are true. I’ve heard old folks say so, and talk of things unlucky. I took the ring off when I saw your arm.”
“But the arm was only scratched—not worth a thought from a little girl like you,” he said; “and surely not worth throwing off your jewelry for. But some day—some day of good luck, I may find you a prettier ring—one more like a girl’s ring, you know; one you can wear and not be afraid.”
“If I’m afraid, it isn’t for myself,” she said, with that old, unchildlike look he had not seen in her eyes of late. “But I’ll tell you what I’m afraid of. Have you ever heard of people who were ’hoodoos’? I guess you have. Well, sometimes I’m afraid I’m just that—like the snakes in that ring. I’m afraid I bring bad luck to people—people I like. It isn’t the harm to me that ever frightens 124 me. I guess I can fight that; but no one can fight a ’hoodoo,’ I guess; and your arm—”
“Oh, see here! Wake up, ’Tana, you’re dreaming! Who put that cussed nonsense into your head? ‘Hoodoo!’ Pshaw! I will have patience with you in anything but that. Did any one look at you last night as if you were a ’hoodoo’? Here comes Max; we’ll ask him.”
But she did not smile at their badinage.
“I was in earnest, and you think it only funny,” she said. “Well, maybe you won’t always laugh at it. Men who know a heap believe in ‘hoodoos.’”