“You stay here the night; Gardener ranch fifteen, twenty mile away. Tewa tired.”
The young Indian shook his head.
“I will find your camp tonight. You must stay here, Miss Graham.” He had not forgotten Bettina’s name, at least.
But now it appeared strange to have him speak and behave in so quiet and well-bred a fashion. Seeing him in an Indian costume, here in the land of his birth and among his own friends, one forgot the young man’s college training, and all that was supposed to go with it.
“But the distance! It is not possible,” Bettina urged.
The young man’s lips arched, showing white, strong teeth.
“I have been winner of the prize as runner at our Snake ceremony. If that is not enough, I won the championship of the United States in the University long-distance running contests this spring.”
Before Bettina could reply, the sound of some one approaching caught her attention.
Then, as she turned, she saw a girl of about her own age coming near, holding on her shoulder a large water jug. But the strange fact was that the girl was blond—fairer than she herself or than Gerry. Indeed, she had hair light as corn silk, pale blue eyes and a too white skin. Nevertheless she was dressed like an Indian maiden. Her hair was arranged over her ears in great puffs resembling squash blossoms, signifying among the tribes of the Pueblo Indians that the girl is unmarried.
“This is Dawapa,” the old Indian woman said civilly.