"How far had he to go to fetch the soldiers?"
"Only to Slide-out. They'll be here by daybreak. Oh, Rain, you'll ride and warn that boy to-night? Promise me, dear."
"Shall I tell Pedro you love him?" asked Rain demurely.
But Got-Wet shouted, "No," then swung her pony and galloped homeward, calling over her shoulder, "Tell him I'm going to marry your sham Indian. There!"
However hungry, I always liked to see Rain pitching camp. She took the four key-poles of her teepee and lashed them together near their smaller ends; then set their butts four square upon the ground, so that they made a pyramid. Next, she laid the spare poles against the crotch of the key-poles, so that their butts made of the square a circle. Taking the skin cover of the tent, she draped it round the cone of poles, mounting its ears on the ear-poles to hoist it up into position, so that the ears, or wind-vanes, and the door opened down wind. She had cut the lodge down small as a sign of mourning, with barely room for our two back rests and sets of robes beside the middle fire. It was none the less snug for being small, so when I saw its lighted smoke in the dusk, I crept in to sulk at home. I found Rain laughing softly, while she laid down the beds, and bubbling over at intervals, she explained to me all the news of how my brother had stolen a cow, and how his enemy, the Blackfoot warrior, Tail-Feathers, had gone to fetch pony soldiers. Rain blushed to the roots of her hair, and told me then about Tail-Feathers. She was to be Mrs. Tail-Feathers as soon as she got home to the Piegan camp.
"Then," said I, "why does Tail-Feathers flirt with that fool?"
Got-Wet, Rain told me, was artful, and a liar.
I sulked. The time was in sight when I must part with Rain or marry her. It did not seem right in those days that my father's son should marry a mere squaw, and yet the thought of parting hurt me very sorely. I hated Tail-Feathers the worse because I saw Rain loved him. And I was so hungry.
At dark came Got-Wet, her pony loaded with flour and bacon, which she made us hide at once because it was stolen out of her father's store. She had also a dish of scrapings, cold fried potatoes and bacon, with soggy slapjacks and a can of tepid coffee, good enough for Indians. She squatted in the teepee to watch our ravenous eating, while she gave trail directions in a gale of talk. So came a gray and long-haired frontiersman, old Shifty Lane, shaggy and roaring, who cursed his daughter for feeding Indian beggars, and drove her homeward storming through the darkness. Rain wanted to talk, but I who had been empty was now full, and snored with intention. Presently the fire fluttered out.
When Rain awoke, a slender ray of moonlight was creeping across the darkness near where I lay, and seated in the chief's place, she saw her father's spirit. He was always there to guard her through the night, perhaps to hear her sigh of deep content when she changed dreams.