Suddenly the girl remembered me, and standing up she said, half ashamed:
“They always obey ME. They are MINE, but they kill any strange thing that comes in through the gate. They are allowed to.”
“It is a pleasant whim.”
“What?”
“I mean, isn't that dangerous to strangers?”
“Oh, no one ever comes alone, except The Duke. And they keep off the wolves.”
“The Duke comes, does he?”
“Yes!” and her eyes lit up. “He is my friend. He calls me his 'princess,' and he teaches me to talk and tells me stories—oh, wonderful stories!”
I looked in wonder at her face, so gentle, so girlish, and tried to think back to the picture of the girl who a few moments before had so coolly threatened to shoot me and had so furiously beaten her dogs.
I kept her talking of The Duke as we walked back to the gate, watching her face the while. It was not beautiful; it was too thin, and the mouth was too large. But the teeth were good, and the eyes, blue-black with gray rims, looked straight at you; true eyes and brave, whether in love or in war. Her hair was her glory. Red it was, in spite of Hi's denial, but of such marvellous, indescribable shade that in certain lights, as she rode over the prairie, it streamed behind her like a purple banner. A most confusing and bewildering color, but quite in keeping with the nature of the owner.