Cooling it to suit baby's lips, she knelt beside the squaw
They did not speak, but after a little of the warm liquor had forced itself down the slight throat, Rachel left the cup in the mother's hands, and reached again for the whisky.
"You can get more from Davy MacDougall," she said, in a half-conciliatory tone at this wholesale confiscation; "and—and you might give him some ammunition—not much."
"What a vanishing of resolves!" he remarked, measuring out an allowance of shot; "and all because of a copper-colored papoose. So you have a bit of natural, womanly weakness?"
The girl did not answer; there was a certain air of elation about her as she undid a scarf from her throat and wrapped it about the little morsel of humanity.
"Go past the sheep ranch," she directed the passive warrior, who stood gazing at the wealth in whisky and powder. "Do you know where it is—Hardy's? Tell them I sent you—show them that," and she pointed to the scarf; "tell them what you need for squaw and papoose; they will find it."
Skulking Brave signified that he understood, and then led Betty toward her.
"He is not very hospitable," she confided to Stuart, in the white man's tongue, "else he would not be in such haste to get rid of us."
And although their host did not impress one as having a highly strung nervous organization, yet his manner during their halt gave them the idea that he was ill at ease. They did not tarry long, but having given what help they could, rode away, lighter of whisky and ammunition, and the girl, strange enough, seemed lighter of heart.