Lucy looked up at him.
“Yeah—woman now.”
“Eighteen,” said Big Medicine softly. “Eighteen years old. She’s pretty.”
“She’s half-breed, Big Medicine.”
The big man turned his head slowly and looked toward the door where Wanna had made her exit.
“Half-breed,” he muttered.
The squaw made a sucking noise as she drank coffee from her saucer.
“She marry greaser, Mexican, bad hombre some kind,” said the squaw slowly.
There was no bitterness in her voice, but Big Medicine knew what was in her heart.
“Mebbe not, Lucy,” he said. “Wanna is good girl.”