There was no intentional lack of politeness in the sharp, overbearing tone of Red Wolf. It was only the ordinary manner of a warrior speaking to a squaw. It would therefore have been very absurd for Ni-ha-be to get out of temper about it; but her manner and the toss of her head as she turned away were decidedly wanting in the submissive meekness to be expected of her age and sex.
"It won't be long before I have a lodge of my own," she said, positively. "I'll have Rita come and live with me. Red Wolf shall not make her burn the talking leaves. Maybe she can make them talk to me. My eyes are better than hers. She's nothing but a pale-face, if she did get brought into my father's lodge."
A proud-spirited maiden was Ni-ha-be, and one who wanted a little more of "her own way" than she could have under the iron rule of her great father and the watchful eyes of Mother Dolores.
"I'll go to the bushes and see Rita. Our supper won't be ready yet for a good while."
It would be at least an hour, but Ni-ha-be had never seen a clock in her life, and knew nothing at all about "hours." There is no word for such a thing in the Apache language.
She was as light of foot as an antelope, and her moccasins hardly made a sound upon the grass as she parted the bushes and looked in upon Rita's hiding-place.
"Weeping? The talking leaves have been scolding her. I will burn them. They shall not say things to make her cry."
In a moment more her arms were around the neck of her adopted sister. It was plain enough that the two girls loved each other dearly.
"Rita, what is the matter? Have they said strong words to you?"
"No, Ni-ha-be; good words, all of them. Only I can not understand them all."