"Let him catch us. He won't do anything worse than scold. I'm not afraid of Red Wolf."
Rita was, just a little, but she rode on beside her sister without turning her head.
"We shall not read any of the leaves this morning."
"Read? What is that?"
"Just the same as a warrior when he finds a trail of a deer. Just like the trail of the blue-coat cavalry. Father and the gray-heads read it."
"Is that the way the leaves talk to you? I guessed it was. It is all signs, like tracks in the mud."
Rita had used the only Apache word she could think of that came at all near to meaning what she wanted, but there was no word for "book," or for any kind of book.
Again they heard the shout of Red Wolf behind them. It was nearer now, and a little angry.
"He is coming, Ni-ha-be. Don't let us ride fast."
"He is saying ugly things. But we will laugh at him and tell him he can not whoop loud enough to be heard."