He slept that night wrapped in a blanket on the mesa at some distance from Mrs. Burton’s tent, next morning acting as her escort.
But it was not possible that the little party of three start off at once. First, Mrs. Gardener had to be persuaded to come down from the ranch house to spend the day and night with the other Camp Fire girls. For Polly had concluded, since Nampu’s house was so near the Painted Desert, the girls could come on the following day and join her there for their first expedition into the desert.
On their arrival Polly had found Bettina a little pale and tired, but otherwise wonderfully recovered from Nampu’s healing herbs. Then, after a little talk, the three girls—Bettina, Peggy and the Indian girl—had wandered off, while all afternoon Mrs. Burton sat with old Nampu and Se-kyal-ets-tewa.
He did not seem to care to be with the girls.
Mrs. Burton wondered at this. Yet she did not understand Indian customs.
There was undoubtedly a deep intimacy between Nampu and the young man. Could it be possible that the daughter, Dawapa, was the bond?
Although living at a little distance from her own people, Nampu was a distinguished woman among them. In the Indian world there was no more famous maker of pottery. Her daughter was being trained to the same work. Nampu was a typical squaw—silent, a little dirty, squatting all day in the sun, with only her wonderful old wrinkled hands moving like an artist’s and setting her apart from the rest of her tribe.
About the daughter it was more difficult to determine. She seemed abnormally shy—more like a frightened wild animal than a human being. Then it was difficult to determine whether her odd appearance made her beautiful or ugly. Doubtless her own people might think her beautiful, because of the contrast her fairness offered.
Nevertheless the Indian boy was so unlike either Nampu or her daughter, separated from them by what appeared like centuries in education and feeling.
Yet, watching him today, the great actress was not so sure. She liked to study faces and temperaments. The Indian had changed since their meeting on the train. Then he had been far more like an American or, rather, like the type we now regard as American, since, after all, he had the first right to this name. But in this short time since his homecoming, he was not the same. It may be that his Indian costume made the difference. Yet it would be interesting to see just how much influence modern civilization did have upon the Indian character. Was it not, after all, just a veneering, and would the young man not return to his own customs and his own people when the American influence was removed?