Just then the shrill voice of Mother Dolores behind them shouted,
"I'm coming. They wanted to make me help pack."
The pride of the best cook in the band was seriously offended. She knew her dignity better, and she meant to assert it.
Silent and submissive as are all Indian women in the presence of braves or of white men, they make up for it all in the liberty they give their tongues among themselves. They can talk wonderfully fast, and say as many sharp things as may be necessary.
"Now, Rita, see if you can make the leaves tell you anything about Knotted Cord."
"He isn't in them. Nor Send Warning either."
"Look. They must be there."
Neither Steve Harrison nor Murray were to be found in the three magazines; Rita felt sure of that, but she turned the pages carefully, as they rode on side by side.
She came to something else, however, in the back of one of them which almost drove from her mind the face and form of Send Warning; Ni-ha-be also forgot the brown hair and handsome face of Knotted Cord.
"Oh, so many squaws!"