“Guess I haven’t a heap of regard for no Injuns nor squaws. I’ve no call to. But I allow Wanaha’s a good woman.” 72
Just for a moment the girl’s face became very serious.
“I’m glad you say that, Seth. I knew you wouldn’t say anything else; you’re too generous. Wanaha is good. Do you know she goes to the Mission because she loves it? She helps us teach the little papooses because she believes in the ‘God of the white folks,’ she says. I know you don’t like me to see so much of her, but somehow I can’t help it. Seth, do you believe in foreboding?”
“Can’t say I’d gamble a heap that aways.”
“Well, I don’t know, but I believe it’s a good thing that Wanaha loves me—loves us all. She has such an influence over people.”
Seth looked up at last. The serious tone of the girl was unusual. But as he said nothing, and simply went on with his work, Rosebud continued.
“Sometimes I can’t understand you, Seth. I know, generally speaking, you have no cause to like Indians, while perhaps I have. You see, I have always known them. But you seem to have taken exception only to Little Black Fox and Wanaha as far as I am concerned. You let me teach the Mission children, you even teach them yourself, yet, while admitting Wanaha’s goodness, you get angry with me for seeing her. As for Little Black Fox, he is the chief. He’s a great warrior, and acknowledged by even the agent and missionary to be the best chief the Rosebuds have ever had. Quite different from his father.” 73
“Guess that’s so.”
“Then why—may I not talk to them? And, oh, Seth”—the girl’s eyes danced with mischief—“he is such a romantic fellow. You should hear him talk in English. He talks—well, he has much more poetry in him than you have.”
“Which is mostly a form of craziness,” observed Seth, quite unruffled.