"Mother," she said, "father never gets hurt, but Cal is so young. The Indians, mother, and there may be fighting. I almost hate this country. I'd rather be where no savages can come."
"They will never come, Vic."
"They did come, this time! I saw them from the roof. Some of them come along here every now and then."
"Peaceably, my dear. It's a wonder to me that they touched anything of ours. If everybody had dealt with them as your father has there would not be any fighting."
"He went away angry enough," said Vic.
"Not angry enough to hurt any Indian without necessity. If there should be any fighting—"
"Seems to me I can't think he could kill anybody, or be killed; but Cal is so young!"
"Victoria," said her mother, almost laughing, "Cal is a smaller mark than your father, and not half so likely to get hit. I hope they will bring the horses back with them."
"You are a wonderful woman, mother. Were you ever really afraid of anything?"
Mrs. Evans thought for a moment, and then replied, "Yes, Vic, the other day. I was afraid we'd not get our soldier scarecrows ready before the Apaches came. Then, too, they might have met your father. I thought of that, but I wasn't really afraid that they had. I think I was made to live here."