"They shoot best on foot."
"I don't see why. I never saw a Lipan squaw in a fight."
"I have, then. I've seen 'em sit down, put their feet on the bow, and send an arrow farther than any brave could send it drawing with his hands. Look at some of those bows. Could you bend them?"
"I never tried it sitting down. I've seen a Lipan squaw use a lance, but it was on a buffalo."
"Do you suppose that ugly old vixen yonder doesn't know how to handle the one she's carrying? They're terribly unmerciful in a fight."
"I'd hate to fall into her hands, before a fight or after one."
"After one would be the worst. Such squaws as she is are the most cruel tormentors of prisoners."
The face of Too Many Toes was again against her, for the lance-bearer was no other.
Alas for her, however!
The warrior to whom the lance belonged, and who also owned the pony she was riding, caught sight of her at that moment, and instantly galloped out from his place in the returning column. He did not listen for a moment to the shrill outcry with which he was greeted, or to her assertion of her readiness to fight the enemies of the Apaches.